Propriety
by Fangirlin'it
Summary: This is not a fairy tale or a love story. This is something entirely gone wrong. Sequel to 'Roughing It.'
1. Bitch

**Trigger Warning:** I'm putting a blanket warning on this whole story as dark and disturbing. The plot deals with the subject of masochism both in its physical and psychological forms. It's not too graphic in terms of violence and abuse but they are definitely implied. Ample sex and borderline non-consent. If you decide to read, all I ask is that you put aside your moral prejudices to understand the deeper meaning. There is more to this story than the sexual and perverse. **Please read at your own discretion.**

* * *

 _Thou supersensual sensual woer_  
 _A woman leads you by the nose. -_ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Chapter One: Bitch

 _Emma stared up at the woman pulling away from her. For a brief second there was fear and confliction written over the mayor's face, and just as soon as Emma noticed, the look was replaced with her usual expression of distaste and indifference. It was not the same as usual, though. Emma now knew it was all just a mask._

 _Regina stood and patted down the wrinkles in her suit. She combed strands of wild hair back to their original bob and ran a finger around the outside of her mouth, checking that her lipstick was in its proper place. It was all done deliberately and unceremonious, as if it was just another day at the office. Regina had achieved her objective. Her work there was done._

 _When breathing came easier the mayor gave the other woman a sidelong glance and a smirk. "A very productive meeting, Sheriff." She turned her back and started walking. "I hope you enjoyed the fresh air."_

 _Watching the brunette swagger off, a half-naked Emma slumped back down in the dirt, heart racing and desire unsated._

What… a… bitch.

Those were the first words that entered Emma's mind when she woke up flushed and panting. It was not just a dream for she still remembered how delicate and practiced the mayor's hands felt.

Yet for as real as her hair standing on end it was a dream (a nightmare, really) where every time her eyes closed the mayor would lay mouth and hands on her body and electrify her with a thousand volts of sexual energy.

Fuck. That's exactly what Emma needed, a good fuck (from Regina, specifically) and the kind that didn't leave one high and dry like before, or rather, wet and unsated.

Emma wanted the real thing. She needed the woman under her, over her (any position really, Emma wasn't picky) in order to get that sweet release, that sensory explosion causing her toes to curl and her vocal chords to strain. She needed to be consumed by all things heard, felt, seen, and tasted. To breathe in sweat and release gasping sighs. To kiss and savor bared flesh. To feel the brushing of breasts against her own, the curve of a waist fit snuggly to hers. The heated current that had enraptured Emma that afternoon when she lay in the muck and the leaves had returned. It infused her skin and traveling down to unspoken territory.

With her first audible moan fingers met heat. A teased clit becoming afire with sensation. Emma responded to her own strokes, jerking and keening her way up the bed. With every brush and browse she came closer to her goal while unknowingly closing the gap between her head and a quaking headboard.

As good as the image of Regina was it did not come close to the real thing. In the days since that unfulfilled jaunt a proper orgasm could not be reached. Usually Emma could go a few days without one, but after the assault Regina had laid the idea of finishing what was started constantly ate away at her. Emma just couldn't damn well finalize a simple morning ritual, so what else could she blame it on but an inadequate imagination?

That was the beauty of the human imagination. She could fantasize about anyone – man or woman, an acquaintance or an imaginary lover that possessed all the right qualities. But who pops into that thick blonde head? Regina _I Hope You Enjoyed the Fresh Air_ Mills. By god, Emma would be ashamed if she wasn't so turned on.

Though living out an ugly peach hue the bed comforter did nothing to deserve the brunt of frustration it was receiving. Emma's free hand grabbed at the material in tufts while heels dug mercilessly for leverage. Her head tilted back, allowing short breaths to come in gasps.

 _Emma._

"Yes… please…" she mewed, writhing with need.

Lines etched across her forehead as she overworked the fantasy… and her digits. A lip caught between her teeth, Emma surged upward so the heel of her palm ground into her clit. She lost all sense of where she was. The only thing she knew was the mayor, naked and beautiful, half-lidded eyes staring darkly into hers, pressing against her with each fingered thrust. Her arm, furiously working below, grew heavy from exertion. She ground her teeth for a moment and pushed on.

Emma knew the mayor could be a conniving, bitchy, and honest-to-god sadist, but to purposely cause such a performance issue was downright evil. If Henry wasn't a minor (or her son, for that matter) she would have sought his knowledge on the storybook and asked him if this were something the Evil Queen would be capable of. Who was Emma kidding? If Regina could undermine one of Emma's most prized skills than she was probably capable of walking on water or turning water into… apple cider.

If this bitch cast a spell on me, Emma thought angrily. Her mind could not seem to finish that threat.

 _Emma!_

The sultry cry and the visual of the brunette riding above had Emma dripping for more. In fact, one more syllable uttered from the imaginary Regina and Emma was sure she could reach her climax and canter on the wave of a pleasure so within the realm of possibility.

"Regina," groaned Emma, her hand picking up its pace.

"Emma!"

There was brief knock followed by the opening of a door. Emma's hand whipped out of her pants. "Jesus!" She rolled a little too far off the bed and landed on the floor of her bedroom with a thud.

"Oh my!" cried Mary Margaret, covering her mouth. "Are you alright?"

"Ugh..."

"I didn't mean to startle you, Emma. I did knock," she added. Her roommate stayed slumped on the floor like dead weight. It looked to Mary Margaret like the woman was out of breath. Her hand slapped against her mouth again this time in realization. "… _Oh_."

"Did you need something, Mary Margaret?" Emma sat up. She diverted her gaze trying to hide her flushed cheeks, neck, and, well… her guilt. When there was no reply Emma huffed, "Take a picture. It'll last longer."

With a vigorous shake of the head Mary Margaret got back on track – sort of. "Breakfast. I made it. You can eat too – the breakfast I mean!" Her eyes continued to widen and Emma wondered if her brows would venture to the back of her head. "That's it then. I'm gonna go. So I'll leave you to it – to do whatever you need to do. Because there's nothing to be ashamed of. But it's not my business, so –"

"Thanks, Mary Margaret," Emma interrupted with a glare.

And with that the woman wearing a sweater buttoned from navel to neck gave a firm nod and left the room. She made sure to close the door behind her.

Emma collapsed on the floor with a sigh and placed the back of a hand on her forehead. So much for finishing what was started. She could no more recapture the essence of that night than she could grab hold of a raincloud.

The thing about fantasies… they're not real.

* * *

As luck would have it the mayor's assistant was absent, leaving Emma alone with the object of her desire. Any other day she would have knocked but today was no ordinary day. She couldn't sleep, couldn't get off, and had been embarrassed twice – once by a woman she loathed and again by her only friend. More importantly, she had skipped out on breakfast that morning. A low rumbling came from her abdomen as she hesitated at the door in question. Emma Swan was pissed and hungry, so a friendly knock before entering was the last thing on her mind.

"Sheriff unless you have an appointment or a death wish I suggest you retrace your steps and knock before barging in."

"Shut it!" snapped the blonde who stormed around the mayor's desk.

Unaccustomed to such insubordination Regina shot up from her chair and squared her shoulders like a true politician. "Miss Swan, you will leave at once!"

"No," replied Emma before placing vengeful lips on Regina's. It was just as good, if not better, than her dreams. Unfortunately, what she didn't want to become a reality was its short duration.

Regina went rigid and pushed. "Stop!" Unlike her deceased husband Emma did stop.

"I thought you wanted this." Emma's face fell, visibly wounded. "You were all over me before. What's stopping you now?"

"Decorum," Regina spat. Her surprise turned to disgust as she gave the sheriff a dissatisfied once over. "How dare you throw yourself at me. I am your superior!"

That only seemed to fuel the flames and further turn Emma on.

"This isn't the military."

Her arms snaked their way around the skirt clad waist, pulling the mayor in. Her lips found the testy mouth again in a fantasy induced kiss that was both obsessive and adoring.

"I said stop!"

It only took five seconds for the jolt of electricity to course through her veins. That was how long it took when you had your lips on the mayor and your hands around her body.

"No," breathed Emma, but she released the woman from her clutches. It only took a half a second for that charge to fizzle. She missed it as soon as her fingers let it slip away. She felt the hands thrust her back and Emma stumbled away.

"Do you really want me to go? Because I don't believe that for a second. Not after you jumped me in the goddamned woods." Her eyes narrowed into the brown ones staring wildly back. "I think you liked it more than you'd care to admit, Madame Mayor."

"Giving is different from receiving, Miss Swan." Regina smoothed down her blouse that got caught in their tousle.

"Yeah and they're both satisfying as hell," Emma shot back with a proud smirk. She couldn't help but covet the bare neck before her. Lips dove slowly to the captivating site. "Don't you want me to touch you? Doesn't this feel good?"

Regina sighed beneath undulating lips. She failed to hold in a moan when something wet found her furiously beating pulse.

"You need this," murmured pink lips on flesh. "I know you do."

Regina inhaled at the grazing mouth on her collarbone. The lips traced a v-pattern, marking flesh above bone, teasing her willpower into submission.

Desperate would be one word to describe Emma, but desperately passionate? It was not often that Regina stood on the receiving end of surprise. After all, she couldn't remember the last time someone panted after her like this. How long had it been? Twenty-eight years? Or more? Before the king took her off the market? And now that joy was being dusted off to fulfill her anew, the joy at seeing some poor soul feed into lustful fantasy.

But, apparently, Emma was more taken with the mayor than previously thought. At the risk of, well, everything Regina decided to let the game continue if only to see how far Emma's passion would go and how long it would hold out.

The way Emma pressed her lips faithfully to her desire and the tenderness with which she carried it out – it was all so nauseating. Once Regina felt the lazy sucking behind her ear she had had enough. Taking fistfuls of blonde hair she forced the woman's eyes on her.

"You want me?" she asked huskily.

Emma nodded.

Tucking a chin down, Regina bared her teeth into a smile, her darkening eyes piercing into Emma's. "Then take me."

* * *

It was fascinating to both how quickly clothes could be shed in a moment of passion. Though caught by spontaneity, it was like Regina's clothes were waiting to be stripped by Emma and Emma alone. The same was true for Emma. Any fingers that attempted to peel off those skinny jeans would have been met with five minutes of fumbling – unless those fingers belonged to Regina.

Emma pressed into the newly naked mayor. Her hands marveled at the firm areas and the supple ones too and the way every inch warmed to her touch. These sensations had been held back the first time they were together (Emma cringed at how the pantsuit had itched on her bare skin). For a brief moment she believed that if she could get the woman to shed her clothes then maybe she did hold some control this time around. In the meantime she pressed in, kissing and caressing, begging for more contact – contact that could withdraw at any cruel second.

Once Regina was spun around and bent over the desk she reared back until she met nothing but skin. Her hips were drawn to Emma's like a magnet. Regina's mind was a fuzzy mess. No thoughts of anger, fear, or revenge took up residence in the confines of that head. Sensation was all she knew then: Emma's breasts brushing against her back, lips pressed at the smooth plane, and teeth grazing along the bumps of her spine. Regina was all goose bumps and shivers under these light touches and she let it happen because there was nothing to stop two opposites from attracting.

Light touches turned desperate. It was the only thing that could result from the sweet sounds of the mayor responding from below. Gliding a finger over silky, wet lips Emma parted them ever so slightly but did not enter. It struck Emma as surprising how ready Regina was for her. Just minutes earlier they had been arguing and a few seconds of foreplay later Regina was nearly pouring desire. With a smirk Emma wondered if the mayor was always this turned on during their fights.

"Fuck," moaned Regina. Her hips moved urgently against the hand that remained cruelly immobile. She felt the smiling lips on her shoulder.

"Uh-huh," agreed Emma before she moved. Hips and fingers thrust home.

Regina gasped at the fingers stretching her. She clawed at the desk, searching blindly for something to hang on to. Her whole body practically convulsed when Emma expertly curled within her.

If Regina's secretary were not out on break he would have heard an earful. The deafening moans caused Emma's eyes to widen with both shock and pride. That she was capable of eliciting such sounds from the mayor puffed up her courage. Now knowing her skills were adequate and highly appreciated Emma began to press her luck slightly. Her free hand tangled in Regina's brown strands before pressing the head gently to the desk. Fingers still working the moans from the mayor, Emma began humping with abandon.

Emma threw her head back, blonde hair swinging like a pendulum. Her dry bottom lip caught between her teeth, biting hungrily. Regina pushed back suddenly meeting their hips again with a slap. The damp hair between Emma thighs painted the mayor's backside like a brush to canvas. She bit down hard to stifle a groan.

"Oh god…" Emma let out, feeling something hot and wet trickle down her cramping fingers. This definitely beat fantasy.

Their bodies surged forward and back, together and as one. The hand that had been tugging at the mayor's hair grasped her hip and Regina quickly covered the hand with her own. "Yes," she hissed seemingly forgetting the amount of control she had relinquished in this tryst.

"I'm not like you," Emma growled. She picked up her pace, burying a third finger. "I wouldn't leave you in the dirt… wouldn't stop what I had started… I'm not you," she repeated. Her lids slammed shut, trying to block out such an unfortunate yet pivotal event. No matter how shameful she had felt lying half-naked in the forest that day there was not a single regret had. Emma had wanted it from the start, but more importantly she hadn't wanted it to end. She buried her face in the crook of Regina's neck breathing whispers of "Don't leave," and "Not yet." Later, Emma would hope the mayor had not heard such abject pleading.

Regina clubbed a fisted hand on the desk as she wailed incessantly to the deep thrusting. Just the sensation of Emma's wet pussy grinding into her ass was enough to send her over the edge. Hips jerked against Regina, driving her further into the desk. She could care less that it had begun squeaking to their manic thrusts. Neatly piled budget reports and meeting minutes had long ago scattered leaving fingerprints and moisture in their wake, the expensive marble desk accruing beads of condensation under Regina's hot panting. Later, Regina would hope disinfectant would be sufficient in returning her desk to its original shine.

The phone was cradled in its docking station just to the left of Regina's head and when it rang she leapt back. The sudden movement threw them both into her chair with the very professional mayor in the lap of a stunned sheriff. They froze in shock as the phone continued to ring, staring at it like the person calling knew what fresh hell they had been raising.

"Let me go," Regina huffed and Emma took back the arms that had been encircling her waist. She stood on shaking legs and snatched up the phone, answering with a steady, "Mayor Mills," as if this were any normal day at the office.

Emma remained dazed and confused in the chair, too exhausted to care if she was ruining the fine leather with what recent activities have brought forth. She gripped the arms to keep from sliding down and focused on the woman.

"That was supposed to be drawn up today not next week!" the mayor shouted into the phone. The Housing Authority Director clearly had no sense of what 'deadline' meant. "Director Paulson, those rental properties are a danger to this town. Any child or homeless miscreant could stumble in and injure themselves. The foundation of some of those buildings is atrocious." There was more babbling from the other line. "Yes, well, take for prime example that property the Zimmer children were found in…"

As the mayor droned on Emma sat and stared. It was the first chance she was ever granted (however unintentional) in beholding the mayor in her unclothed glory. One hand pressed the phone to an ear while the other rested on a naked hip, index finger tapping impatiently. Emma continued her inspection to the backside she had so furiously been smacking against. She smirked at the remnant wetness that had been left in her wake. Regina's hand left her hip and planted itself on the desk while a delicate toe scratched an ankle. Emma cocked her head to get a better angle. Though she had ample time to catch her breath, Emma felt her heart continue to dance as her eyes glazed over the visible hollows and curves of the mayor's body.

"…hardly think that is reason to neglect your duties. If you can't do a simple job you can find yourself without one as quick as you can say…"

Blowing the occasional lock of hair from her viewing pleasure Emma had a momentary lapse in judgment and considered running a still booted toe up the calf of a distracted and very naked mayor. Leather on tender, supple flesh… it was a sexy combination and Emma found herself wondering if that's something Regina was into. Her boot twitched at the fantasy. No, Emma thought, that wouldn't be appropriate. Then again, the furious shining they had given the marble desk was not too appropriate either. Nevertheless, the boot stayed to the floor dejected in its own right.

"I want that re-inspection ordinance on my desk by tomorrow morning. Have I made myself clear?" Profuse apologies and lofty promises were spoken before Regina responded with an acidic, "Please do." The handset clattered into its cradle.

She rubbed her forehead in frustration, fingers sliding over cooling sweat. How people manage to retain office and act like fools at the same time was beyond her. With a blatant disregard for her current lack of clothes she picked up pen and paper and scratched down a reminder of the director's deadline. If he didn't hold up his end she would have no qualms about letting him go. There had to be some bright, ambitious fellow out there who could adequately replace such incompetence.

Ending the note with a flourish of her pen she placed it in her ink well. Turning she came face to face with the sheriff and gasped as their breasts clashed together. Her hands grabbed on to strapping upper arms to steady her shaky legs. Eyes clapped on to one another. In her rush to answer the call and reprimand such unconscionable behavior she had completely forgotten Emma was still there, probably ogling at her liable nakedness.

"If you answer the phone like that again I'm gonna have to arrest you for looking so damn hot."

Any response Regina prepared was interrupted by the kiss. Emma coaxed her forward with a gentle push of hands. Regina sensed the distance closing and did nothing to stop it. Surprising herself more than Emma, Regina fell into the tender assault, trailing fingers through the long blonde hair and allowing the wet softness of lips to overwhelm. She breathed heavily into the moving mouth while her heart resumed its galloping pace.

Neither one knew who broke the kiss first, though the voice's origin was unmistakable.

"Get out."

Emma gaped more at the even tone than the actual command. Her head cocked back. "Excuse me?"

"You may go, Sheriff." The mayor turned her attention to the desk. She gathered up the paperwork that had been disturbed, working methodically at returning order to her station.

Face scrunched in disbelief, Emma watched until it hit her like a ton of bricks (or the freaking Titanic, for that matter). At least she didn't do the lipstick thing, Emma thought. She threw her clothes back on and slammed the door behind her.

Bitch indeed.


	2. Repercussions

Chapter Two: Repercussions

Emma was hunched over her desk at the station doing paperwork. This was not how she wanted to spend her Saturday. Sleeping till midday was more her thing (which was easier now that her roommate refused to come within 5 feet of her door). Usually after showering and some semblance of primping, she would arrive downstairs to meet a flurry of activity. Every Saturday Mary Margaret cooked them French toast complete with blueberry eyes and banana smiles. Without fail there was always a fresh, full pot of coffee waiting for a groggy Emma at noon. From there they would enter into conversation about how their week was, what upset them, and the things that made them smile. It was the type of talk Emma wouldn't have bothered with, but this was Mary Margaret and she actually cared about her week and vice-versa.

There would be consequences for this kind of fun, though. If work was not completed in prompt fashion by five o'clock every day the mayor would be all too pleased to kick her out of a job. Emma wasn't about to give her the satisfaction. She had had enough of that woman.

The stapler was pounded down with the thwack of a fist. No staple. She pounded harder, again and again without regard to the damage the paperwork was receiving. She failed to coerce the stapler.

Emma's rage was interrupted by the ringing phone.

"What?!" she shouted into the receiver. The stapler ended up in the trash.

 _"Uh, it's just me."_

"Oh," shoulders fell at the sound of a small, downcast voice, "sorry about that. Just one of those days, you know?" Emma ran a hand through her hair, calming herself down. "What can I do for you, kid?"

 _"I was hoping you'd want to hang out with me today. I'm thinking we should go over our strategy for Operation Cobra; get a contingency plan in place. Just in case, you know?"_ There was a pause. _"And I'm kind of hungry, so maybe we should eat first."_

"Yeah, I'm with you on that." Emma chuckled. "Food should definitely be a priority." Once she said it the stack of reports on her desk seemed to magically grow taller. She sighed. "Unfortunately, I can't today. The station has me tied up today."

 _"It's the weekend, Emma! No one does work on the weekend. I don't even do my homework on Saturdays."_

"Which is probably why your mom wouldn't approve of us hanging out today."

A childish scoff came from the other line. _"You know if you don't have lunch with me my mom will."_

"And what's so awful about that?" Emma could think of a dozen reasons, but none of them applied to Henry.

 _"You're really going to leave me alone with the Evil Queen?"_

"Henry," she sighed, "you've been alone with your mom for ten years. I hardly think eating lunch with her will kill you."

 _"Did you even read the book? She poisoned Snow White with an apple! How can you be so sure she won't do the same to me?!"_

"Do you trust me?"

Silence. The kind of silence that hurt. Then a soft reply, _"Of course."_

"Ask her out to lunch. She won't see it coming and it will catch her so off guard there will be no time to prepare your death. Now don't tell me that sounds illogical."

 _"It is kind of brilliant."_

"And you need to eat, so what are you doing talking to me?"

 _"Okay, I'm going. Bye."_

"Talk to you later."

Emma hung up.

Who indeed would want to have lunch with that harlot? She felt sorry for Henry. If only he knew what his mother was capable of. Emma winced. On second thought, maybe he's better off not knowing. Emma was just glad she did not have to be around that bitch every morning, noon, and night.

Her chest still burned at the rejection. Why Regina had to pull away when they were just starting to get somewhere? When Emma was just starting to feel something? At first Emma thought it was her own inadequacies as a lover that resulted in such a swift refusal. Was she too rough? Was she not rough enough? Or did it have nothing to do with sex and everything to do with emotion? The idea that Regina sought a firm base of trust before the physical act seemed preposterous, yet Emma couldn't help but think the mayor was like any human being. Even Emma liked the occasional sweet talking – as long as it didn't lead to anything serious like a steady date. But was the rejection really her fault? After all, Regina had a way of making people feel responsible for things they didn't do and manipulated them into feeling like the shit beneath people's shoes.

The pressure beneath her breastbone intensified with every flashing memory of lips and the haunting words of _Get out_. Or maybe it was just the coffee.

"Ugh," she croaked, glancing at the sludge in disgust. Steaming or lukewarm, the stuff settled like rot gut. Foregoing the stimulant, a hand massaged the source of the burn. She pulled out an antacid and popped it.

Her eyes went to the mounds of files and papers. It wasn't long before she moaned out her frustration and expressed a head desk in its truest form.

* * *

 _"Doyouwannahavelunchwithme?!"_

Regina jerked the phone from her ear like it would bite her. The jumbled shout was male, a bit anxious, and oddly resembled the boyish tone of her 10-year-old son. "Henry? Is that you?"

 _"Yeah."_

"Where are you? Did you leave of the house again without my permission?"

 _"If I did why would I be calling you?"_

Well, that hurt. Her teeth clenched as she came up with a scolding remark but Henry continued.

 _"I'm in my room where I'm supposed to be. On a Saturday,"_ he finished petulantly.

Taking the cordless phone with her to the foyer she glanced up the stairwell. "Why can't you speak to me in person? Your generation seems to think technology trumps human contact. I'm shocked that you would follow the crowd so blindly. I've taught you better." She gripped the bannister but did not ascend. Her shout echoed up the stairs. "And you are not supposed to be using my cell phone, young man!"

There was no reply. Regina knew full well he was punishing her with this silence. It was his classic response to scolding. She let it go, for now. Today was the weekend, which meant no work, which meant no distraction from her monotonous life.

After taking a breath she asked in a surprisingly maternal tone, "What is it Henry?"

 _"I'm hungry."_

"There are some leftovers in the fridge. I can heat up some of Thursday's casserole if you'd like." While speaking into the phone she continued to look up the stairs as if he were doing the same from the second floor. He wasn't. It was without a doubt their most awkward exchange yet.

 _"Will you take me to lunch? I want to go out."_

His voice sounded strange from the receiving end. It was expectant yet pained. The air seemed to hang stagnant for a moment, causing Regina's throat to constrict. "With me." It was a statement, not a question. Maybe not fact, but something resembling it. Suddenly a childlike hope that was supposedly lost long ago bubbled up within Regina. Clutching her shirt collar she waited for the other shoe to drop.

There was a noise of shuffling from the other line, perhaps size five shoes that were not supposed to be reclined on his bed. _"Mm-hm,"_ he replied.

"You don't want to go with your friends?" she asked hesitantly, knowing those were in short supply to the boy.

 _"Emma didn't want to."_

And there was the other shoe (or rather, the cheap leather boot). Being second choice felt like a knife in the chest. And when first choice happened to be that trashy, no-good blonde who rejected Henry the knife only twisted that much deeper. She shook it off. He didn't have to ask Regina; he could have simply snuck out as per his usual approach. It was the closest thing to progress mother and son had experienced in years.

"Well then, where would you like to eat? Your choice." She smiled, knowing his answer.

 _"Let's do Granny's."_

* * *

A yellow VW Bug pulled up to the curb just as the engine gave an agonizing sputter.

"I promise, baby, I'll get you a tune up by the end of next week," Emma said while rubbing the dash affectionately.

There was some kind of maple festival going on that day. The phone was ringing off the hook, probably looking for extra volunteers. That people actually thought the sheriff worked on a Saturday… Then again, she _had_ holed herself up there with paperwork. She didn't answer the calls, of course. If it was an emergency they would get a hold of her on her cell.

By the seventh call a change of scenery was in order. After stuffing some files in a frayed briefcase Emma set out with only one thing in mind: a warm, gooey grilled cheese.

Propping the door open Emma waved to Ruby who looked giddy as always from behind the counter. A few smiles were exchanged with the locals until the sheriff's eyes fell on the far booth and the brunette bitch occupying it. She sauntered over, regardless of rules, ethics, or blurred lines. If looks could kill, Emma hoped her glare was intense enough to shoot laser bolts.

"Emma! I thought you were working at the station today."

"I thought so too," she ground out.

The glare was returned with similar intensity. Emma narrowed her eyes just as Regina did the same. A few customers felt the tension but continued to stare down their cups of coffee or talk in hushed tones. The mayor's and sheriff's staring was so loud it could have been heard from Tallahassee.

"You wanna have lunch with us?"

The cheery tone and bobbing child in the booth diverted Emma's gaze just as Regina flinched at the invitation.

"That's not necessary, Henry. I'm sure Sheriff Swan has work to do." She smiled sweetly for the benefit of her child. "Anyway, this is our weekly mother/son lunch."

"Our what?"

"Our –" Regina hesitated. It occurred to her that there was no such thing. A brow arched as she recovered flatly, "We already ordered."

"I'm sure there's a spare menu around her somewhere," countered Emma.

She slid in next to Henry. Low and behold there was a single menu sandwiched between the ketchup bottle and the sugar shaker. She grinned and snatched it up while Regina's jaw dropped at such an affront. It was as if fate wanted Emma Swan to piss off Regina Mills.

"What did you order?" Emma playfully elbowed the boy who returned with his own jab.

"Grilled cheese and a hot chocolate."

Ruby stopped by to get the third party's selection which just happened to be identical to the boy's.

Emma winked at her son. "Great minds think alike."

Henry laughed joyfully as Regina boiled in her seat.

When the food came Regina pushed her salad to the side. "I seem to have lost my appetite."

"Oh, what's the matter, sour puss?" came the muttering around a melted cheese sandwich.

Brown locks whipped so fast they could have caused a whirlwind. Somehow her brain processed the addressed title with a 'y' at the end and she gaped in horror. Suddenly that one word brought a series of images and sensations to the forefront. The hand that reached around her waist, clamping their bodies together… the fingers that had thrust into her wet folds not once or twice but a dozen exquisite times. Oh, and how hard she could have came to those ministrations; it would have only taken a few more seconds, a few additional well placed strokes until…

Sitting in the booth with thighs braced fiercely together, Regina's clit twitched at the memory. Her eyes darted to Henry and then back at Emma to confirm that her thoughts went unheard. Regina's cheeks grew crimson at such an error. She heard more laughing, but it wasn't directed at her. Emma had just made a pathetic joke which sent Henry into fits of laughter. She witnessed Emma throw a fry at her son.

Like a bitter predator that had been robbed of its territory, Regina watched it all play out. This was how Emma bested her, using their son (correction: Regina's son) to get one up on her. A performance suffused in deceit. A staged trap not unlike her own.

Of course, Regina played her hand exceedingly better. During their little tryst on her desk she had responded in the very manner expected of her. She rather enjoyed that performance. It mixed things up a bit in her life. Regina wasn't much of a screamer or a curser, not unless you count the one that brought them there. It took everything in her not to laugh at the sheriff, so rough in her screwing it was clumsy.

But like all performances the best lies were blanketed in truth. That's what scared Regina. That's why this was so dangerous and thrilling and – if she could just admit it to herself – fun. The truth that curtained Emma's performance terrorized just as well. It was the kind of truth that proved blood trumped a piece of paper. The Queen of Fairy Tale Land and Mayor of Storybrooke did not fall for such an act, but her son had. He allowed himself to be lured into the trick. He was worshiping this woman in front of her and the worst thing was that Emma smiled, well aware of it. Regina bristled before the childish antics that had now escalated to a string cheese competition (whatever that was).

"Hey, hey, mine is longer!"

"Nu-uh! Mine so is! Look at it!"

"You're cheating, Emma! You're not supposed to use your fingers to stretch it!"

Regina watched in disgust as Emma extracted her greasy fingers from the string of cheese. She watched in disgust as the buttery pink lips wrapped around the stuff and pulled the cheese further, stretching the three inches to four.

"Heh, Roo-ey! You go'a ru-er 'ack there?"

"A what?" asked Ruby from the counter.

"A ru-er!"

"A rooter?"

Emma gave out an exasperated sigh and repeated, "A –"

"A ruler!" Regina bellowed, eyes shut with equal frustration. "She wants a god damn ruler!"

The diner went silent.

Finally, Ruby answered, "I'm afraid Granny's all out of those."

A few chuckles rang out through the restaurant, the tension dissipating.

"Hey, kid, how would you like to get dessert at the maple festival? I hear Mrs. Nolan makes a great maple ice cream."

"Awesome! Let's go!"

The two kids launched themselves from out the booth wearing identical smiles and eyes as big as their stomachs.

"Oh, Sheriff," Regina put on a concerned frown for performance purposes, "I thought you were swamped with work."

Emma's face fell. It was little bother that the mayor won this round. What did bother her was missing out on her own mother/son bonding time. She was just psyched at the prospect of spending the day with her son not to mention trying some of that maple glazed bacon. So much for having a fun-filled Saturday sleeping in and gobbling up syrup flavored everything.

"Sorry, kid. I'm afraid I don't have time for the festival today." She punched his shoulder lightly. "Those police reports aren't gonna sign themselves."

"Well… okay," sighed Henry.

Regina addressed the sheriff, "We wouldn't want to take you away from your duties." She held her hand out to the boy. "Come Henry." She added with practiced enthusiasm, "Let's have some good, clean fun!"

* * *

Work proceeded as an event unworthy of historical record. The job of sheriffing was not all it was cracked up to be with its deceptive workload and complexity of jurisdiction. Enforcing the law was wholly _un_ magical, even if you included the thrill of packing heat.

On that steamy, summer afternoon, Emma powered through sheer boredom, punctuated by the occasional maple glazed bacon illusion and sugared donut daydream. Soon her finger was found guilty skating patterns through granules of sugar. Eyes drooped and stale coffee gave off the last wisps of steam. Storybrooke really needed to start getting interesting or Emma would have to start arresting people for no good reason. And the first citizen who would get the cuffs was none other than…

"A lovely midsummer's day and you choose to spend it here." The last word was punctuated with a snide expression trademarked by the mayor herself. "How… stuffy."

Shooing the sugar grains with a sweep of her hand, Emma wakened from her slouch. "It's my job, isn't it?"

"Hm, but for how long?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"All in good time," dismissed Regina. Her eyes wandered the small cubical of an office as if looking for something to hold over the sheriff whether it be the flat chair cushions or the trash overflowing with fast food debris. "The town put on quite the festival. Everyone managed to make an appearance, taste the food, contribute to the local venders..." She smirked widely, tasting triumph in the air. "You should have been there as every time I see you there's something filled or sprinkled stuffed in your mouth. I'm sure you would have been taken with the maple cream Twinkies."

Emma glared at the audacity of someone using her one and only vice against her. What a cheap shot. She wasn't a drunk, never got into drugs, and hadn't stolen a lick of anything in months. Why can't people just leave her sweet, gooey sin alone?

"More importantly, Henry had a marvelous time. Just the two of us, mother and son out on the town."

Not up to taking on the role of gullible trout, Emma ignored the bait to pour every ounce of focus on the open files on her desk. The only thing wrong with that was her inability to sulk with subtlety.

"Which brings me to the reason for my visit. " Haughty smile in the lead, Regina sniffed and flicked back a strand of brunette. "I would have done this at the diner, but with an audience and all – not to mention my son being present – it was hardly the appropriate place. I thought you deserved to retain whatever dignity you owned."

Emma's face screwed into confusion. "I can't tell if that's a favor or an insult."

A delicate hand flicked the air. "Whichever makes this easier for you. I should think it won't matter when I'm finished."

Frowning, Emma straightened in her chair. Now what did _that_ mean? Goosebumps rose on her skin, the air in her lungs suspended mid-breath. For a moment it seemed like the mayor had half a mind to pick up where they left off. It was a welcome turn of events despite the murderous thoughts Emma had of late.

The leather whined under her as she leant forward, elbows propped on the desk. Her nose dove forward and caught a whiff of the tantalizing sweetness of maple syrup. It was as if Regina had been bathed in it, head to toe. A pink tongue extended of its own accord, seeming to lap at the air before collecting the dryness of a bottom lip.

Sharp clicks shot the air. Regina approached the sheriff's desk just as its possessor advanced. Emma hadn't even noticed the distance closing. The air was made heavy by summer and syrup and need. The smells distorted her vision almost beyond repair. Emma just fell closer, driven by the mayoral apparition, regardless of what it would cost her.

Gravity was dead set on pulling them together. Who was Emma to stop elementary physics? One track mind, all she wanted to do was nibble on the mayor's thigh like it was a pancake battered corn dog. Or better yet, lick her head to toe as she would any maple popsicle, running a tongue along warm flesh and wrapping wet lips around…

Fuck, Emma thought, what's gotten into me?!

Blinking rapidly, she bit her lip before that tongue of hers could land her in jail. Why was it so hard to keep a lid on those images? The constant dreams were teasing enough. She probably looked like a golden retriever in front of a Milk-Bone right then. Yeah, in front of a nice Twinkie shaped treat filled with syrupy…

A _clack_ met her desk, springing Emma from fantasy land. She looked down to find Regina's hand leave the device. As ominous as the monolith which perturbed scientists in Kubrick's mind-bending film stood a tape recorder.

"What's this?" Emma asked, brow perked warily.

"This," Regina explained, "is my bargaining chip."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me? What's on it, anyway?"

"Find out for yourself. I insist."

Not at all comforted by the confidence in that tone, Emma made room for curiosity. Following the depressed click of a button, a wheezing sounded from the rotating spindle. The recording crackled a bit until a voice broke through. With a small gasp, Emma identified the tin-like quality of the voice emanating from the speakers as her own. And she wasn't the only one on the recording. There echoed another voice, prim at first yet taking on a startled quality once accompanied by background clattering. The longer it went on the further Emma sank into her chair.

 _"… I suggest you retrace your steps and knock before barging in."_

 _"Shut it!"_

There was a telltale scratching of a chair rolling back.

 _"Miss Swan, you will leave at once!"_

 _"No."_

Clothing rustled in the background followed by rattling desk drawers.

 _"Stop!"_

 _"I thought you wanted this."_

Silence.

 _"How dare you throw yourself at me. I am your superior!"_

 _"This isn't the military."_

The rustling of clothing resumed. Lips smacked suggestively, wet and eager.

 _"I said stop!"_

 _"No."_

The scream that pierced the humid air of the sheriff's office sounded familiar, having first been taken as a cry of passion. But considering the context of what the tape just played for her the sound could be construed as anything but consensual. Horrified, stunned, and burnt by humiliation, Emma just gaped at the tape recorder.

"Fuck."

Regina quipped flatly, "Indeed."

Green eyes flicked up. The intent was clear. "You…" Emma's mouth grew tight around the impending word. She clenched on it despite the clawing need. "Do you even know what this could do to me? Of course you do – or it wouldn't exist. Did you ever… Shit!" Her hand flew from its clamped place on her forehead to smack flat against her desk. The violent gesture prompted no response from the mayor who clasped her hands stoically. Once Emma caught her breath she asked as evenly as possible, "Why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you besides give you what you wanted? You were practically begging me. I did not harass you. That… that…" Emma's hand flew out but hardly with the intent to destroy. Knowing Regina, she probably made several copies. "That _tape_ is not the full story!"

"The tape says what I need it to say. Now, you have two choices. Choice number one," a slender finger rose for effect, "you can put up a fight and contest the evidence, thereby making yourself look even more liable. That decision will send you down the road to humiliation, unemployment, and without visitation rights to my son." The accusatory finger was joined by a second. "Choice number two: you can willingly step down from your position as sheriff of this town and spare yourself the ugly backlash that the first choice would bring you."

Both sounded equally humiliating. Emma began to stand, but had to kick at her chair which refused to allow her room to rise. "This is unbelievable!" she growled, at the chair, at her boss, at the world.

"I should think so." Sooty lashes fluttered as Regina grimaced accordingly. "After the way you handled me… I cannot believe your actions have surprised me. I should have known better."

"Oh, don't pull that shit with me, Regina! No one in this town is going to believe you!"

"And why wouldn't they vouch for their mayor? Is it because the new resident of only a few months has captured their hearts with her criminal background? Or perhaps it is her high and mighty attitude: big city girl looking down on the small town folks."

Regina rounded the desk, drawing the tips of her fingers along the desk. When they came up caked with dust and crumbs, she flicked them with a curl of her lip.

"The people in this town are not easily swayed by outsiders, Miss Swan. You were not born here like the rest of us. You did not attend our schools, go to mass on Sundays, volunteer at community fundraisers, or attend our yearly maple festival for that matter. No one knows you," she insinuated, shaking her head, hands shrugging. "What makes you so dependable?"

"What about Henry?"

"What about him?"

"You seriously think he's going to take your side in this?"

In the blink of an eye, Regina marched into Emma's personal space. She gleaned with brutal intent to rip apart the pale neck with her very teeth. "If you make the right decision he won't fall in the middle of this. Do you really think sexual harassment, though substantiated, is a suitable subject to discuss with a ten-year-old? And to make him side with one over the other? A mother would never burden her child with that kind of choice. And if it came to that, well, my son would remember all the good I gave him and he would place trust in ten years of home, nourishment, and care."

Emma opened her mouth in rebuttal, but it was clear from the subsequent advance that Regina hadn't finished. Suddenly, the small office seemed to shrink. She felt trapped by those thickening brown eyes and made hot by the breath coursing over her face. A trickle of sweat ran from her hairline, tickling the skin near her ear and Emma didn't have a care to wipe it away. She didn't care because for the briefest moment having Regina this close to her, this intimate, she's never felt more beautiful or wanted and this excruciatingly, heartwarmingly weak. And if any move, any hairline fraction of a gesture was made, the spell will have been broken.

Chin turned up Regina surged to meet the gasp so close to hers. Her eyes slipped closed, joining Emma in the breathy moan between their parted lips. And then her whisper came like a breeze, carefree as a summer morning. "All you ever gave him was a walkie-talkie."

Backing away Regina gave one last meaningful glance, a reminder of her proposition, and cleared out of the station.


	3. Congratulations

Chapter Three: Congratulations

"Madam, your one o'clock has arrived. Would you like me to send them in?"

"Not just yet, Erik."

The tips of her fingers finished typing Director Paulson's termination letter and proceeded from there to manage the files on her desk. Her hands fluttered purposefully until a thought struck her. The dark marble surface reflected lines of confusion on the mayor's face.

"I don't recall the name of my appointment," she called to the crack of her open office door. "Who is waiting for me?"

"I… I think that is something you should discuss with your – Ich meine, with the person who is here."

Though her assistant's High Franconian German accent exhibited charm, his stumbling brought her eyes to a roll.

"Shall I – No, junge, wait! Do not go in yet! She will be very –"

A gilded door knob squeaked to its eager intruder. She paused in recrossing her legs to gape at her visitor.

"You are my one o'clock?"

"Yup!"

"Yes," she corrected. "You are supposed to be in school, Henry. What has gotten into you? I didn't raise a son to neglect their studies for a prank meeting."

"It's a half day," he explained plainly.

"Oh." How could she have forgotten? Frustration had her fingers pressed to her temple and shaking her head at a faulty memory.

A face peeked from behind the door: alert, baby blue eyes, impeccable eyebrows, wavy, shoulder-length hair that rivaled the corn silk gold of Emma's, and a sculpted jawline. His mouth opened tentatively.

"It's all right, Erik."

"Can I offer you a beverage, Henry? Tea? Coffee? Juice?"

"Do you have orange soda?"

"He will have water." A motherly glare was consent enough for the assistant. She disregarded the sulking from across the desk. "What have you come to speak about?"

"Erhm…"

"You may remove the sweater, dear."

Henry Mills, though owning a dress suit tailored to his size, had not the steady hands to fashion a necktie (that honor lied with his mother). As a result, he had to resort to more reasonable clothing, though not taking into account the season.

Puffing out flushed cheeks, the boy looked down at the white collar of his dress shirt which peeked over a navy blue sweater. He frowned like he had done something wrong, perhaps the tail of his shirt was sticking out or the sweater which he received for his eighth birthday had started pilling beyond repair. It looked positively stifling. And in the heat of midday July he felt like a baked bird in the oven.

"Though I appreciate the pains you took to look presentable for this meeting, I wouldn't want you to develop heat stroke." When he made no move to undress, she tipped her head purposefully. "Your mayor insists."

Regina smiled as the four pound sweater came off in an instant. Henry sighed pleasantly and plucked the dress shirt away from his overheated chest.

"I came here to give you an idea for who you should hire as the new sheriff."

The mayor's head rose in understanding. "You would like to propose a candidate?"

"That's what I said. Here are some references and stuff."

A mangled manila folder was handed over. Regina smiled wryly, identifying the faded file as one of many items that had once been the highlight of playtime – or play office as a giggling four-year-old used to call it.

"Here you go, junge."

Erik handed the young boy a glass of water complete with ice and a bright green straw.

"Es ist kalt. Danke, Erik!"

Regina grinned from over the file, taking pride in her son's linguistic efforts. Like any mother, she fully expected her little boy to stay with her forever, though it was only right to raise a child with a global perspective and a thirst for cultural knowledge.

Since eight-years-old, Henry had been tutored in German by the willing Erik. Three days a week he would come from school to read and complete prearranged lesson plans. In addition, his instructor received many snooty lessons on proper American slang. Both were enthusiastic in learning from one another and had come to develop a mentor/mentee bond.

The door closed neatly behind the assistant and Regina went back to the file. She perused it with a keen eye, knowing her son wouldn't come dressed like a gentleman if he expected anything less of her. If he took this state of affairs seriously then she would meet it with equal seriousness. When she got to the last page of notebook paper she realized a very important element was missing.

"Henry, no name accompanies this file."

His lips thinned as innocent eyes studied the ceiling.

Regina narrowed her eyes teasingly with a "Hm," before taking a closer look at the contents. It only took a minute to decipher the owner of such brilliant accomplishments and seconds for her patience to wear thin.

"Did she put you up to this?"

"Who?"

"Do not play me for a fool. I do not condone this kind of behavior. If Miss Swan has something to say to me she can refrain from using children to do her dirty work."

"She didn't make me do anything!" insisted Henry. "It was my idea. I swear! She doesn't even know I'm here."

Regina bit the inside of her cheek, but held fast at the sight of the boy. As a mother she hated to see him like this. He was far too young to lose hope in anything. All she wanted for him was the kind of childhood she had wished for herself at that age. Regina didn't know how to react to this onset of courage and his well-meant recklessness. His heart showed great kindness to others, regardless of the danger it would put him in. That characteristic was exceedingly at odds with her own; one of the clear differences between a child and a wicked queen. Yet she loved him all the more for it. It made him special and her full to the brim with pride.

"Henry," Regina began, clutching fiercely to her Mont Blanc before releasing it with an exhale, "I am touched by your willingness to help someone in need. Miss Swan may not be my favorite person and I may not want her around us, but I am a very proud mother to have a son that stands up for who they believe in. As mayor, it is an honor to meet with someone who takes the time to look their best. You came prepared and presentable and that is more than I can say for some of my lesser employees. Given time and education you would make an impressive politician," she mused with a wink and a grin. Henry looked down, blushing. "But you must understand that this is not a game. Henry, you should know better than to interfere in these matters. And though I cannot speak for Miss Swan I would venture she would be rather embarrassed that you spoke on her behalf."

"I just want to help," he murmured.

"I know you do."

"But if she can't get her old job back how will she pay for stuff?"

"She is not your responsibility, Henry. She is a grown woman capable of finding work elsewhere." Preferably across the border in some faraway plot in Canada, Regina thought to herself.

Green eyes widened suddenly and for a moment Regina thought her wistful musing had been found out.

"Hey, what if you help her?" the boy asked brightly. "You're mayor! Is there anything she can do here? Maybe she can be your assistant!"

"Sweetheart, Erik has been my assistant for longer than Miss Swan has been in Storybrooke. We wouldn't want him to lose his job just so Miss Swan can have her hot cocoa."

It came across as spiteful and meant to be so, but Henry was too concerned over the woman's wellbeing to notice.

Henry's tone turned pleading. "There's no job openings?"

Regina gave a subtle push to angle her computer screen (and soon-to-be ex-Director Paulson's termination letter) away. "I'm afraid not, darling."

His chin met the collar of his white shirt. He sighed. "I know she can do better. It's just…"

The mayor rolled her eyes. This was the last conversation she would have expected to have that day. Despite playing a cruel hand she had no sympathy for Emma. But for her son she could scrounge up a trace of it. "Go on," she prodded gently.

"She's been so sad lately. And we hardly ever hang out because she worries about finding work. And I feel bad… Emma doesn't think she can be a good sheriff. But she can be! I know it!"

"Henry, you know that I would not fire Miss Swan unless she failed to meet basic standards."

Taking it as a question the boy opened us mouth. The look on his mother's face, though, the kind that soothed his worst fevers and hovered over unintended scrapes with kisses closed his retort. He gave a vague nod.

"This matter has nothing to do with you. And I would not like you to feel responsible for whatever happens to her when she is in this town."

His head jerked up to reveal a look of fright. "Emma wouldn't leave us, would she?"

"That…" Would be a blessing to our family, she intended to say, but her hardened reply melted a bit at the vulnerability in her son's voice. And her compliance had nothing to do with his use of the word 'us,' or the subtle warmth it supplied. She rephrased, "That is not up to me." Her head turned away to focus on new paperwork, paperwork that had no link with ex-sheriffs.

Henry's eyes trailed after his faded file as it was pushed to the far corner of the desk, closest to the trash but not quite there yet. Taking this as an end to the meeting he got up from the chair and left his mother to her work.

The door closed softer than expected. Considering the disappointing conclusion to the appointment she would have expected the picture frame rattling slam she had come to associate with her son lately. Her hands stopped their file shuffling to hold her head up. She breathed out a sigh, unsurprised when it declined to give her relief. After all, she hadn't felt at peace since before a certain stranger waltzed up her walkway.

Regina proceeded to work that day regardless of the migraine developing. She still had the task of hiring a replacement sheriff. There were few unemployed citizens and even fewer candidates suitable for the job. When the right person arose it came as a brilliant light bulb moment.

Smirking delightfully, Regina sat up straighter. She lifted the phone from its cradle and dialed the number of Storybrooke's new sheriff.

"Hello, this is Mayor Mills."

The smile grew as her greeting was returned with equal allure. She sank back into her chair and crossed one slender leg over the other.

"Yes, it is a beautiful afternoon, isn't it?"

The tip of her red fingernail traced a looping design on her bare kneecap. She shivered under the scraping caress and laughed breathily to the voice on the other line.

"Well, I'm glad you feel that way because I have a proposition for you. One that I should think will be impossible to resist."

* * *

An unemployed woman of 28 took liberties with her sleeping schedule: staying up all night at the club with Jerry the bartender, crashing by three AM, and waking in time for the lunch rush. It was the kind of life led by a young twenty-something fresh out of prison and no one to depend on but numero uno. But this freedom came with a heavy penalty: shame and a light pocketbook.

These days Emma passed the time in her corner booth at Granny's diner. Coffee and The Daily Mirror were her constant companions. She stuck it out there, munching on Granny's charity scraps and browsing the job ads. Sometimes Henry would stop by and hand over a wrapped peanut butter and jelly sandwich which was not – he repeated not – on account of pity or some failed ploy he may or may have not have carried out one afternoon at the mayor's office.

After two weeks of this, the pitiful glances from diner customers ceased to be a nuisance. That wasn't to say every look from her son didn't make her feel like his knight had let him down. She never did put much stock in that fairy tale book of his, but the last thing she wanted for that kid was disappointment. It's just… he'd look up at her like a morose little corgi and Emma always really had a soft spot for those dogs. She knew Henry was trying his best to cheer her up, but sometimes this situational depression latched onto him as a result. The pity was unintended and it couldn't be helped. It hurt – his sad green eyes she gave him. They twisted the knife his adoptive mother thrust into her back.

"So how's freedom treating you?"

Emma jerked up from the paper to meet the woman sitting into the booth opposite. She rolled her eyes and grumbled, "Sucking me dry."

"Is it really that dire?" Ruby inquired, worried.

"It hasn't gotten bad yet. I'd rather not dip into my savings unless it's absolutely necessary."

"You mean until those tank tops start taking on an off white shade?"

Scowling indignantly, Emma replied, "I still wash my clothes, Ruby. I just have to stick with generic products now."

"Not at the expense of those poor shirts!"

"Hey, I still leave some money on the side to darn my leather jacket."

Folding her arms, Ruby feigned jealousy. "Only because it's your one true love."

"Your sass is not appreciated."

"So sue me." The waitress' eyes widened then as if struck by realization that Emma was near broke. "Oh, wait…"

"Look how supportive you are today."

"Cheer up, girl, or people will start to think you're hanging out with Leroy." A squeal let loose just as Emma's fry sailed a hair's breadth past the target's head. "Missed."

Her next fry was eaten up with a dark expression.

"Well," the tips of red-lacquered fingers held a chin as Ruby procured a solution, "I think the diner could take on another waitress if you're interested. I'm sure Granny wouldn't mind as she already gives you half your lunches for free."

Emma nearly choked on a ketchup slathered fry. "A waitress? Yeah, right."

"What's wrong with waitressing?"

The laugh died in Emma's throat at the result of her immodesty. No doubt, Ruby took pride in earning wages in a job that only required a GED, but the hurt look across her face shattered that.

"No, no, that's not what I meant. It's just… been there done that, you know? And I don't want to compete for tips because we both know who would win that battle."

"I'd play fair," Ruby said, pouting.

"Exactly."

"I don't see what's wrong with trying to get your old job back. The badge suits you."

"Regina fired me, remember? There's no coming back from that."

"So?" It was dismissed with a flick of a wrist. "What is it with this irrational fear of the mayor? She's just a politician with as much baggage as the next townsperson. Do you know about that abandoned manor on the outskirts of town? Rumor has it that a crazy patient escaped from the hospital and holes up at there like Norman Bates. Kids won't go near it and the nuns don't even stop there to sell candles for Miner's Day. Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh, the mayor. Why are people scared of her? She's not a terrorist or anything."

"According to her kid she's the Evil Queen."

Ruby rolled her eyes. "Still?"

Emma nodded, tiredly. "And the whole Fear the Mayor campaign is not entirely baseless. She's clever and can get to anyone."

A red streaked brunette head cocked suspiciously. "What does that mean?"

Emma covered her hesitation with an emphatic shake of the head and, "Nothing."

"Okay," drawled Ruby. "But that can't be the only reason why you're not fighting back. It's not like you to back down. In fact, no one else in this town has your balls in standing up to her. Was being sheriff really that bad?"

"Actually, no."

Emma head lurched back at her own testimony. It came as a surprise how much she missed being sheriff of Storybrooke. After so many years of aimless wandering and low-end jobs that barely paid the rent it was possible that she had found her niche. Not even her stint as a bounty hunter could measure up to the relish she got from patrolling streets and toting the weight of a pistol at her hip. Law enforcement seemed the only honest, rewarding job she ever had. The town respected her even if the mayor didn't. And the kid's association with heroism and sheriffing, though unrealistic, managed to inspire her somewhat.

"So," Ruby shifted in the booth and tipped her head curiously, "what exactly was it that got you fired?"

Emma snorted. "What didn't I do? The woman is impossible to satisfy." In more ways than one, she thought. She rotated her glass of ice water with scrambling fingers. "I'm really not surprised. It was bound to happen sooner or later. She has a death grip on her kid like I'm going to poison his mind or something. Firing me is just the first step in kicking me out of Storybrooke entirely."

Defiant jaw clenching, Ruby leaned forward. "You're not going to let her, are you?"

"Hell, no!"

"See? That's the spirit! God, where has this Emma been?"

"Ruby!" called Granny from the cappuccino machine. "The tables won't serve themselves!"

"Egads!" Ruby grimaced. She shot up to tighten the strings on her apron. "Got to go, Emma. Duty calls!"

"At least you have a duty," mumbled the blonde from her slumped posture. Before her friend got far she snagged a wrist. "Hey, thanks, Ruby. For…" she motioned a finger to the waitress and back to herself to signify the intimacy, the friendship, the encouragement that struck home.

A blush colored Ruby's cheeks and she smiled. "Any time, Sheriff."

Emma laughed. She laughed because she had found a home in Storybrooke. She laughed because friends went out of their way to make her feel good, because she had a son, and he might actually love her despite being an unemployed, irresponsible mess.

But soon the joy waned. The smile died in her eyes at the reminder of what she had to do that day. A flurry of hate and arousal surged in her veins at the person she would suffer eyes upon.

* * *

The sheriff's department was just as she had left it two weeks ago. The air had a stale quality, the door hinges needed oiling, and a comfortable silence blanketed the whole building.

A sentimental chill swept through Emma as she walked down the hallway. She would not be welcome anymore, but it felt as much like home as Mary Margaret's apartment. So much had happened here, both good and bad. She remembered the stiff cot she spent her first night on in Storybrooke. She remembered Graham, playing darts, getting drunk, and her crying over his body. She remembered how much free time she had during Ruby's short stint as deputy, how she spent one afternoon doubled over on the couch after one too many bear claws, how Henry took care of her with ginger ale and story time until the mayor came to "save him from the invalid."

The echoes of her footfalls were soon paired with another sound: voices. Emma frowned. As far as she knew Regina had not chosen a replacement and no one else had keys to the office, so why would someone be here? The janitor? It couldn't be because one of the voices was the mayor's and as Emma closed in on the open door it became pretty evident that the other person could not be the janitor.

Grinding to a standstill, Emma's eyes blinked wide.

A throaty laugh bounded off the walls. Perched on one of the desks with one skirted leg crossed over the other, Regina regarded the newly inaugurated sheriff like a hawk would its next meal. Palms splayed behind her, she reclined back in a most comfortable position with barely covered breasts swollen out on display. Taking on a flushed hue herself, Emma made out the tongue snaking out to wet a sumptuously parted mouth. And then she just snapped.

"What the hell is this?"

If Emma wasn't so flustered she would have taken some joy in the surprised jump that came from the mayor. Although, a niggling feeling told her the act did look a bit premature, like Regina anticipated the intrusion.

David whirled around, but was held back by the hand on his shoulder. He was shocked at the disturbance as Emma was by his presence there. He didn't even register the way the backs of his thighs were brushing against the mayor's knees.

"Emma…" he chuckled nervously, recovering from the fright she gave them, "I didn't think I'd be seeing you here today."

Green eyes shifted from the innocence of David to the steely brown eyes gazing from behind. "I could say the same thing about you," she said, meeting Regina's stare.

"Oh, well, you know… Regi – um, Mayor Mills asked me to meet her here to – "

"I bet," Emma interrupted harshly. "I just came here to pick up some of my stuff."

"I am glad you are here, Miss Swan. You can be among the first to bear witness such fine news."

"What?" Emma replied flatly. She already knew what and did not appreciate getting it rubbed in her face, almost literally.

With one hand placed on David's shoulder the other came around to slope down the front of his shirt in a strangely possessive touch. "Meet our new sheriff." Her eyes narrowed slightly as she said it. It was said in challenge, as a taunt, proof of the blonde's inadequacy, any of the above. That one sentence held so much loathing, so much history. Simple words, yet loaded meaning. And David stood oblivious under her hands.

Emma watched the emerald stone ring and the hand it decorated move over flannel. She bit down on the urge to rip it off that scratchy plaid shirt. Emma could deal with a lot of shit the mayor threw at her, but this? Parading her replacement in front of her like a prize? It didn't just make her white hot angry, it… hurt. If this was how Regina wanted her to feel from the start, if this was her plan all along then Emma had to give credit where credit was due – it was nearly enough to run her out of that building and tucking tail out of Storybrooke altogether.

The only thing keeping her there was that self-satisfying smirk. Good enough to slap off that face and just as befitting to slam against Emma's own. It spoke of a delectable blend of hurt and pleasure. Just as well, the smirk let her know the game was far from over. It convinced her of what they had yet to accomplish.

Raw need swirled in her belly. Not the need to finish, because the goal was never as satisfying as the way in which she got there. Emma felt the need to push Regina right back, to test her boundaries and hear the sound of them coming down. To shock propriety on its back or ruin it completely.

Feeling oddly ignored during this silent test of wills, David cleared his throat.

"Congratulations," Emma finally said.

The sting that came with saying it did not hurt as much as she thought it would. Her body responded differently around Regina since their meeting in the forest. She was either numb to everything or over sensitized to the point of arousal. No middle ground existed on this scale. The conditions of her reaction depended entirely upon what shade of red the lips wore or how short those skirts presented.

"… Um…" David's eyes shifted between the two women and the tension that filled the space. He scratched the back of his neck. "… I'm going to go out and grab a coffee. Would you like anything, Madame Mayor?"

Regina's stare with the blonde didn't break. "No, thank you, Sheriff Nolan."

"Okay then."

Snatching his car keys and the shiny new badge as an afterthought, he passed Emma with a meager wave. Too bothered to return the farewell, her attentions lied elsewhere. The outer door clicked shut before Emma walked deeper into the station. Regina never parted from her roosted place on the desk. If anything changed after David's exit it was the increased rise and fall of her chest.

"That was quick."

The mayor's breathing picked up at the break in silence. Sooty lashes fluttered, heels met the floor, and Regina pushed off from the desk. "The position of sheriff is important. Why would I dawdle when the town's safety is in jeopardy?"

"Because Storybrooke has such a high crime rate."

"I do not expect you to understand my point, but maybe that is why you are no longer wearing the badge."

"Let's cut the bullshit," griped Emma. She folded her arms and donned her armor for battle. "You want me to be jealous. Why?"

A dry chuckle pierced the air. Regina's eyes wandered the office boringly. "Dear, I have no interest in making you jealous. I just want you to see what you'll never have with me."

"And what is that?"

For a moment, Regina's mouth turned down, grey and foreboding. It was only a flicker, until it brightened into smile and the upper corner of her lip, where a scar adorned, curled in repulsion. Her eyes, smoldering and searching, zeroed in on Emma's. "If you have to ask," she gave out a guffaw and a shake of the head, "then you never did have a chance."

"It's not my fault you send mixed signals," hissed Emma as she reared forward. "One minute you want me to jump you and the next I'm getting blackmailed!"

"Oh, I was not talking about a chance with me, Miss Swan."

And then it dawned on her. It came like a lightning strike to the heart. How cruel she was, Emma thought. This wasn't just about sex, not by a long shot. Not even the sheriff's position could compare to what the mayor really meant. It was the only thing that could really get to Emma, and Regina knew it.

"I'll never have him with you." Emma's whisper came out stripped and ragged. "I know that. Sharing isn't really your style, after all."

"No, it isn't."

"But I think we both know he's better than both of us put together. He has room for you and me, I'll admit that. Why can't you let him share? Why do you have to force him against me?"

"You are many things, Miss Swan. Parent material is not one of them."

"And David is?" scoffed Emma, "He couldn't find a loose Pongo with two hands and a satellite! Leroy would charm him out of a DUI with a free round! He… he wouldn't bat an eye if he witnessed Mary Margaret commit manslaughter!" Regina raised a brow, detecting the growing possessiveness in the woman's tone. "You want to rely on that kind of guy to save you in a burning building?! Would you trust him with your own kid?!"

"At least he wouldn't poison my son against me!" unleashed Regina. "Or force himself upon me in my own office."

That seemed to sober Emma, despite the working jaw. "I can't stand to even look at you when you bring that shit up."

A hand flourished out. "There's the door, dear. I suggest you use it."

"You know, at first I didn't believe you were actually capable of this kind of cruelty, but then I remembered…" Emma brought her hands roughly to her hips, leading with a shoulder, and shot back, "you're the Evil fucking Queen!"

"Go on and keep thinking so. Shout it from the rooftops for all I care." Regina smirked, delightfully. "I'm sure there's a bed open for you in a particular wing of the hospital."

"Then say goodbye to Henry, because he would be joining me."

"I'd never let anyone take away my child. I don't care what nonsense they spew," said Regina. Her expression blanched, chest heaving brittle under the future of loss. "I will love Henry no matter what he calls me."

"If you care about him at all you will drop this. Burn that tape and any copies you have locked away." Emma licked her lips hesitantly. She dropped her voice to a diplomatic level. "Give me back my job. I'm good at this, Regina, and you know it. If you do all that I'll keep quiet about your desperate little request in the woods… and on that desk of yours."

"You bargain like you have something over me. Have you already forgotten? I am the mayor of this town and hold more power over the people and their goings on than you can imagine. You tried testing me once and look where it got you. I dare you to make another attempt."

Emma froze, astounded, yet feeling a buzz of excitement. "You want to see how far I'll go," she gathered, frown deepening. "That's why you're going to such lengths to get rid of me."

Determined as ever to rid herself of such company, Regina shouldered her purse and slinked on by. She only paused to deliver, "But whoever said I can't enjoy it along the way?" and a sultry wink in parting.


	4. Venus In Flesh

Chapter Four: Venus In Flesh

It was Sunday and Regina sat reading in her study. The divan formed nicely around her slim frame. She could lounge there for hours in the company of a hefty book and, when winter rolled around, a lit fireplace. In fact, that was how she spent most of her days until the baby.

Then her hours were monopolized by feeding time, diaper changes, teething tantrums, and so, so much more. Like never before, Regina was put through the wringer. Raising a child was a true test of patience, even more so without the advice of a friend or her own mother. The challenge was worthwhile and all because of a gurgling little angel. But like all 'little angels' they grew up into 'little demons,' running through the house naked, making scenes in the grocery store, and improving 'Mommy's homework' with all the colors of crayon. Yet for as tough as it was on both of them, Henry loved Regina and she him. They learned what made them angry, what caused them to cry or laugh. They learned to be a family, and soon the mayor's paperwork remained clean of fanciful drawings while the boy lived it up with play files and his own stack of loose leaf.

But Henry grew up. For Regina it was unexpected. She hadn't prepared herself, yet what parent could? Picking him up from school wasn't cool anymore. Snack time and night lights were a thing of the past. He grew out of so many traditions Regina held close to her heart: a tucking in and a kiss goodnight, crafting homemade ornaments for each other every Christmas, cooking apple pie, bundling him up three layers too much in the dead of winter, and, of course, story time. He didn't want any of it anymore.

It was normal, wasn't it? Her little boy would not be a little boy forever. He would continue to grow strong and tall, smart and ambitious. School would beckon him away from Storybrooke. Girls would lure him away from her. Henry, the once coddled little angel, would make a family of his own. Home would cease to be a small town in Maine. His heart would be claimed by another, rendering Regina irrelevant.

It was Sunday and Regina had better things to do than worry about her future. Instead, she poured her attentions between two covers. The book captured her with its scarlet and jade cover several weeks ago on her way out of the office. Erik said he found it in a pawnshop and, upon paging through the first chapter, paid for its immediate liberation.

With the knowledge that anything from that shop should be held with the strictest of suspicion and with a most covert, if not persuasive curiosity, Regina took it upon herself to confiscate it herself. From that moment on the novella took her prisoner every Sunday afternoon. Regina read through the hours so startled by the protagonist's infatuation with his paramour it bordered on revulsion. Why would man allow himself to be enslaved by woman? To be flogged and humiliated a thousand times over and still beg for more? She didn't understand it, at first, but with every read through she came closer to feeling that same empowerment and passion the man so desperately, so blindly sought after. And soon she shared in his infatuation.

But on this particular Sunday Regina was distracted. She could no more lust after her novella than she could spark a flame to a candle's wick. Putting aside the book, Regina rose from the sofa and marched across her study. From within a desk drawer a file was procured. Its contents were not excessively thick, but that did not disregard its importance.

She laid it on her desk and sat down. It lay open, inviting her interest just as it had the first time. It called to her even before she cracked open her Sunday reading material, stealing bits of her attention here and a cursory glance there. She thought it best to confront the wretched file once and for all. And so she read.

Thumb and forefinger rubbing together absently, Regina's eyes roved line by line. She thoroughly combed over the intelligence gathered. Most of it did not surprise her. She had, after all, known the woman's whereabouts through Henry. But since the two ceased their little summits at the playground, Granny's, and the sheriff's station, she had yet to hear a word of the life and times of Emma Swan. Enter the executive assistant.

Since the woman's termination, Erik had been tasked with collecting information. Emma may not be patrolling the streets or be too busy to poison her child with pop tarts anymore, but she still had a hold on Henry. Keeping tabs on Emma could hardly have been done out of the kindness of Regina's heart. Her interest did not stem from fondness, rather the intent to protect Henry. He was the only person that mattered in this. Hence the need to know where she was, who she spent her time with, and when she took herself and that pathetic excuse for a car out of Storybrooke. Not if, Regina insisted daily, when.

All of Erik's investigations had been compiled in the folder Regina held open. His recent findings had been added just a few days ago, only for them to tempt her away from her reading.

Suddenly, her fingers stopped their rubbing. Mouth open, Regina brought the file up for closer inspection. Impossible, she thought. Or was it really? This was Emma, after all.

Quickly, Regina returned the file to its drawer. She locked her study behind her and drew up the stairs. Henry hadn't left his room since breakfast. Any other day she would be concerned, but with Emma coming up so infrequently in his conversations (which were few and far between), there didn't seem to be cause for worry.

Like any pre-teen, Henry readily agreed to being left on his own in the house. He was reaching eleven and she trusted him, Regina said. And so she left him to his own Sunday reading of the graphic novel type (for once).

Based on the woman's recent career change, further investigation was called for. This kind of research begged for a more personal touch, one Regina intended to carry out herself.

Before leaving Regina swept a comb through her hair and applied a darker than usual shade of lipstick. She had no intention of changing; the teal dress hung cool on her body and was without wrinkles. At the foot of her staircase she slipped on a set of heels and departed with a predatory smile.

* * *

The club lied on the outskirts of town and, therefore, attracted what her world would call the lesser common people. Regina entered with more dignity than sufficient in these establishments. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim setting. She fought the urge to wrinkle her nose.

Off to her left was a wet bar, men slumped over it in various stages of drunkenness. All tables were moderately occupied, the popular seats lying closer to the stage. The customers, some of whom Regina could name, were somehow unconcerned with the fact that the sun had yet to set and their dinner consisted of liquor and assorted nuts. The atmosphere was stuffy and claustrophobic, but that could have been due to the low key lighting. It wasn't until her eyes hit the stage, spot lit and dazzling, when she really felt out of place.

The male customers had a careless, gruff look about them, but the women were markedly more attractive than she would expect from a roadside club in the middle of nowhere. As if drawn to the spectacle, Regina moved deeper into smoke haze. Her hip bumped between the swelling tables and brushed against god knows what. She was a bit taken aback that her presence hadn't scattered half the joint. The mayor had a recognizable face and a stern demeanor that had many running for the hills. But here and now, Regina was not the center of attention. Everyone's eyes were on the half-naked blonde strutting onstage.

Staring open-mouthed, Regina felt the heavy blow of shock. Damn Erik. In his report he had alluded to Emma working at a strip club near the border of town, but had not specified what line of work. Regina assumed bartender or waitress – both just as humiliating in her eyes. The sight of Emma, and in job specific attire, held that assumption in serious jeopardy. Regina's mouth grew dry, and for a moment she forgot why she needed to hunt down and kill Miss Swan in the first place.

A few rowdy calls snapped Regina out of it. Taking a deep breath she stalked up to the edge of the raised platform.

"Miss Swan!"

Blonde hair, extra curled for the occasion, whirled to the shout. Emma's heels stuttered, but quickly recovered into a sexy shimmy enjoyed by the crowd. You couldn't tell her surprise amid the thick layer of eye shadow, nor her grim frown from pale lips (bare of gloss for natural effect).

"Regina," she greeted nonchalantly, as if spoken in passing.

"What in god's name-?!" Regina flinched in the crisscrossing lights. "You are embarrassing yourself!"

Emma gave a pointed look before wagging her hips.

"Me!" Regina choked out, coming to her senses. "You are embarrassing me! This is no place for a sher – an ex-sheriff – to be. Now get down."

A few more catcalls inspired the blonde's dance. It wasn't long before the brunette, initially thought to be an eager customer, became the main attraction.

"Hey, look! It's our very own Mayor Mills!"

Hushed voices filled the club and several heads followed where the gruff biker pointed to.

There was only one individual who could make Regina cower, but under scrutiny of a very drunk, very aloof crowd of men, she found the edge of the stage digging sharply into her back. This was not her territory and everyone in the club knew it. The mayor couldn't touch them there anymore than they could lay a hand on the dancers.

The quiet whispering rose above the music until an overjoyed uproar rang out. Some remained in their seats, kicking back and enjoying the display of a classy teal dress in a dingy joint as theirs. Others got to their feet and pounded their table for a show.

"Mayor! While you're here why don'tcha show us what ya got!"

"Yeah!" a voice called from the back. "Join your sheriff and shake it!"

"She's not sheriff anymore, remember? That woman there is a right fine dancer she is! Whoohoo!"

Regina fumed like a firework ready to set off. She ignored the drunken requests and grabbed Emma's arm. She pulled.

"Hey! Quit it! I'm working!"

"Being an accountant or a lawyer is working! And so is sheriffing a town!"

Regina's eyes glazed down the undulating body. How Emma managed the pole in that short black skirt was a feat the mayor would be ashamed to inquire after. The attire left little to the imagination, yet it occurred to Regina that even after two lascivious encounters she had yet to behold Emma in all her glory. Between the scrap of leather and high heel pumps Regina hoped any blush of hers wouldn't match the color of that lacy bra. Her cheeks had other plans, though, as they radiated a vivid heat.

"What you are doing is offensive and foolish. Don't cheapen yourself!"

"I think you're just jealous."

"Pardon?"

"But you have no right to be, not after what you did to me. The humiliation you think this is," Emma crossed her legs and, reaching up the pole, stretched her body like a taught cord and proceeded to roll her body from bust to toes, "is nothing compared to what you did to me."

Regina opened her mouth but it fell closed before anything could be done. Any comeback thought up had died at the reminder of that humiliation. Maybe she had pushed too hard. Getting so wrapped up in those surging feelings, both lustful and loathing, Regina really did not know when to stop pushing. She had blackmailed Emma because it was necessary. Because in some warped sense of desperation it was fun. Standing in the midst of drunken bikers, inappropriate music, and a barely decent Emma Swan, maybe Regina had gone a little too far with this shame game.

Emma bent down to take Regina's chin between thumb and forefinger, extending her neck in a vulnerable position. "I thought you wanted this."

This being Emma out of the sheriff's position. This being Emma's body at one time, maybe two.

"And what would your son think?"

Her fingers dropped from the chin. Emma's eyes fluttered just as something flashed within them. Never in their time of knowing one another had the mayor called Henry her son.

"How will you explain your new source of income?" prodded Regina. She laid in with ruthless abandon, sealing the danger in her question. "If you continue to make a display of yourself, if he suffers disappointment at what you've become… I will not be merciful. I will spare him the humiliation of having a biological mother like you. Believe me, you will never see him again."

Emma's brows met at a furrow. It could have been a response to the threat or the blinding spotlight. Only they knew the real reason.

She gave a subtle nod and exited down the stage steps with little fanfare than the crowd would have liked.

* * *

An odd fixture of the hallway, Regina squinted beneath the lighting. The greenish yellow glow came with an incessant buzzing sound that nearly had her scrubbing her ears out. In the very last place she'd expect to be on earth, Regina, arms braced to her sides, stood tight-lipped and unaffected by the grungy walls. Unaffected save for the twitching nerve at her temple. The cacophony of music, whistles, and jeers still managed to boom through the hallway, further testing the mayor's patience.

"You didn't have to wait for me," Emma said from behind. "Or don't you trust me?"

The leather skirt and heels were cast off for the usual attire of jeans and t-shirt which had an equal effect on Regina. That was not say she went without the slight pang of disappointment.

"Are we still at the point where you have to ask?"

A master at diversion, Emma shot back, "Do you always look this good on Sundays?"

Regina rolled her eyes. A hand subconsciously smoothed down the front of her teal dress. "Now that you're decent can we please remove ourselves from this establishment?"

"Not so fast, ladies."

Blocking their exit was a man. Though a sturdy, rough fellow, he hardly looked like the rest of the bikers and hoodlums who frequented the club. Instead, his black hair was oiled back, his face a clean shave, and a tolerable dose of musk carried with. His jeans were clean of rips and holes, pairing up with the ironed shirt and suit jacket.

"Winston…" Emma winced slightly, knowing she would have to come up with a pretty spectacular reason why one of his best girls was ditching him.

"What and who you do outside this place is your business, but when you're here there are rules. Leave your personal shit at home, Emma." Winston the manager eyed the brunette hesitantly, fully aware that this woman was the mayor. "I don't need any jealous girlfriend of yours disturbing my customers."

"Oh my god." Emma's jaw dropped. "She is not my girlfriend."

Regina immediately jumped into the fray. "If I were her girlfriend I would have made a much grander scene." Stepping in front of Emma she narrowed her eyes at the club owner. "Tell me, do you enjoy exploiting these women for pay? Or is it just a hobby?"

"Hey, lady, I don't force anyone to do something they don't want to do. You may be stoned on the hypocrisy of political mores to understand this, but I carry my business with a kind of respect."

"And where did you receive your degree?" Regina asked airily. "Harvard School of Pimps and Tricks?"

"I don't need a degree to go toe-to-toe with an uptight bitch like you."

"Whoa!" Emma jumped into the closing space and waved her hands for a ceasefire. "I think that's enough."

"I can think of a dozen citations off the top of my head to sue you with, you –"

"Go ahead!" spat Winston. "Get your lawyer friends over here and they can see for themselves how…" he air quoted, "…'unsuitable' this establishment is. They'd be breaking out the singles before they even got through the door."

"That you would think all my lawyer friends are male is quite the assumption."

"How do you know I wasn't referring to the female lawyers? Or can't you imagine a bunch of ladies indulging in," he jerked a thumb at Emma, "this fine piece of ass. Don't have to go far out of Storybrooke to find'em. I count at least two dykes right now."

There was a gasp and Emma had to struggle with the mayor clamoring over her to take a whack at Winston.

"My friend is a highly respected civil rights attorney! She single-handedly facilitated the endorsement for gay marriage in this state you chauvinistic imbecile!"

Emma raised her brows while Winston just rolled his eyes.

"Give it a rest why don't ya?" he sneered, crossing his arms. "Hey, I got an idea. How about you get into something real nice and give my customers a dance. Show'em who the real tramp of Storybrooke is."

"Hey!" barked Emma. She got in front of the livid mayor before she could do any damage and proceeded to shove her soon-to-be ex-boss into the wall. "Don't talk to her like that!"

"Emma," chuckled Winston, perfectly at ease with the fist in his shirt, "it's a joke. Come on. What's gotten into you?" He emphasized the question by looking at Regina who scoffed.

"Not in the slightest, Winston. What the hell is wrong with you?" Emma gave his shirt a good rustle before letting go. "And I don't appreciate being called a 'fine piece of ass.' Say it again and you'll find out how fine I am at kicking yours."

"Fair enough." His hand went up in peace. "You can pick up your paycheck at the end of the week. Just take her and go."

Teeth clenching, Regina stalked forward. "No one 'takes me' any –"

"Let's go, Regina."

The mayor's scowl didn't keep Emma from ushering her none too gently out the back door.

"Ex-cuse me!"

Emma let the wresting arm go with a muttered, "You are a real piece of work."

"The feeling is mutual."

"Why the hell would you go and do that? I had a good thing going there."

"A good thing going? Those jeans must keep all the blood from going to your head if you can call this," Regina waved above her head at the building they exited, "a profession. No one with a shred of dignity would take money for parading around like that."

"Some people with dignity don't exactly have a choice, you know? Some people aren't born with a silver spoon in their mouth."

"You know nothing about where I came from. I, on the other hand, have a growing file on all the holes you called home or how you continuously employed yourself under morally questionable conditions." She blew out an exhaustive breath and flung her hands up, letting her purse fly up and return to her thigh with a clout. "I don't know why I was surprised in the first place."

"Let's just get something straight here. Yes, I have danced like that in the past. Yes, I did it for money. Is it the ideal work experience? No. The thing you don't seem to understand is that I didn't have a choice. It's quick cash and I couldn't afford to care about delicate sensibilities." Emma took a step forward, nonthreatening but stern enough to prove a point. "And there is a distinction in what you call what we do. We aren't employees, but independent contractors."

"Oh," Regina looking from the piercing eyes to the raised finger and back before sassing, "well call Merriam Webster."

Emma just stared and then made to clutch her head with the claws of her nails to keep the bomb that was her brain from exploding. She shook her head with an exasperated, "Erghh!" and marched past Regina toward her car.

"Why would you work for someone like that?"

She slowed to a stop, contemplating the angle behind such a question. With Regina there was always an ulterior motive. So Emma thought about it, genuinely, not for the mayor's sake but for her own. Why would she work for someone like that? Winston had balls, that was for sure, but calling the mayor a bitch? That wasn't ballsy, that was stupid.

Turning her head so her chin met her shoulder, Emma replied, "Well, when I'm on stage it's not him I have to worry about, is it?"

"And you would trust him to save you from an inebriated, overly doting crowd of men?"

"I told you I've done this before. I can take care of myself."

"You have expectations to live up to now and a son to think of," Regina added as an afterthought. She might not have realized the implication of such a statement but Emma's astonished face had. "I don't know how you could work in such a place and not foresee it getting around to his ears. The devastation if he ever knew what you have been up to… ruining that precious hero image. You come into his life after giving him up, make him think you are some noble knight in his book – No! I am talking, Miss Swan. And then here you are throwing your dignity out the window for some minimum wage job that has you baring yourself to drunken strangers. In the end, I will be the one picking up the pieces. I am the responsible parent who will have to explain to her son why the woman who gave birth to him isn't capable of raising him to be a mature, intelligent young man."

"Is that a threat?" Emma asked, turning fully around to engage her. "You actually think that by pitting him against me and blackening my name that he will simply fall into your arms and call you 'mommy' again? Don't forget, you drove me to this. You blackmailed me with a bullshit sex tape and turned every prospective employer in this town against me."

"It is the choices we make, Miss Swan. Do not blame me for your inability to find a steady job," her plum-shaded lips curled at the red lace displayed boldly through a t-shirt, its full effect still so burned into consciousness it scalded her cheeks, "and for your lack of modesty."

"God damn it, Regina. If you would just get your head out of that office once and a while you would see the world for what it really is. You would see people who have to scrounge dirty clubs and back alley bars to make a living. People who don't have the luxury of sitting at a desk all day and getting sums of cash just for ordering people around. If you opened your eyes and looked around you'd see people who were never given the freedom of choice." Emma's eyes were welling with tears. She choked out angrily, "I didn't have anywhere to go!

"I wasn't a privileged child; you and your file already know that. I didn't have Henry's luck in getting family that loves him, that told him every god damned day that they loved him. There was no mother to make me breakfast before I got beat up by some rich kid at school. No teacher gave me a book to ease my loneliness, and I sure as hell didn't have some fairy godmother to grant my one and only wish."

Regina stood immobilized, jaw uncharacteristically dropped.

She actually didn't know. The details were never outlined in the background check ran in the early days of the stranger's arrival. Then and still now, she skimmed over the abuse and the neglect, eyes only for the juicy tidbits worth to disparage her with. She didn't know, but as a hot tear rolled down her own cheek she could certainly relate.

A dark shade of lips pressed forward and froze like ice to Emma.

"Stop it." Emma didn't push, but retreated until her back met the building's siding. "I don't need your sympathy."

"This isn't sympathy."

And it wasn't, for a downturned chin and shadowy eyes had no place speaking soothing words and turning back a stray hair. It wasn't either of their style as they came to understand it.

Emma tasted urgency. She opened her mouth to it, allowing the purity to consume her. She discovered that urgency could moan and the excitement of that discovery had her joining in without a thought. The kiss was long, heavy, and enticed her every whim. Emma allowed a lot from this one kiss: to be pinned against the building, to have fingers roam through her hair, for more to fill beneath her shirt. More importantly, she allowed everything she's ever hated about Regina to dissolve into the dry, summer heat.

But Regina, she tasted… confusion, confusion over how she had been acting since that time in the forest. Seeing Emma on stage, dancing and flaunting, did things to her – jealousy, horror, pity, admiration. Kissing Emma was reckless, the very act a humiliation. But Regina was a bundle of nerves and a rolling surge of emotions. Her blood thrummed with desire, a heat so great it could burn through her skin. It could be felt, every vessel, every artery expanding for the oncoming rush.

Seeing Emma so bare yet in control of her body turned something on in Regina. She was completely in awe of someone who could be vulnerable like that and still retain some form of power. That woman on stage was far from shy. The men lolling in her shadow were mere tools, even peasants while Emma stood over them like a force of nature. A woman like that had empowerment. A woman like that reminded Regina of someone she hadn't met in the mirror for some time.

Hands pushed past barriers, buttons unfastened, and words but ashes on their lips. A mouth descended on Emma's breast as fingers pawed at red lace. Emma dropped her head against the building and turned her head away. She opened her mouth in a groan. Grappling with over-washed, unappealing denim, Regina tugged at the button with a growl before thrusting her hand down. Fingers roved wide and long over the material, testing its wetness. They came to press hard against Emma's clit, pulling a startled cry from above. Regina's nails clawed down the back of her shirt and soon the mewling had possessed her in ways she would never admit.

Grinding down on an offered thigh, Regina pressed her fingers forward in gratitude. Emma's voice pierced the air, but drew no one near. It occurred to Regina, then, that she and the ex-sheriff were grinding against the back of a strip club. The setting for the act alone spoke of lowly peasant behavior. It also occurred to her that she had a habit of taking Emma in highly unusual places. And not just taking her, but breaking with her own sense of propriety. And why? Because it's where she wanted it to take place? Because it made her feel superior? No. Each time it had everything to do with Emma's sensibilities. The forest, where Emma wouldn't mind getting a little dirt on her knees. The mayor's office, where Emma could take advantage of her enemy in her own palace. Outside a strip club, where Emma had enticed no good suitors for money.

Emma. Emma. Emma. Three times. Three different places. Three lustful acts that ended (the most recent that _would_ end) in disarray. And for what?

"This."

Emma opened her eyes. "What?"

Just as it left her lips Regina slipped past the last barrier and drove into wet, hot folds. Eyes fluttering shut against Emma's flushed cheek, the mayor opened herself to the multitude of sensations. There came a stutter of words, some which were curses but all nearly unrecognizable over Regina's passionate groan. Emma's fists buried themselves in the dress she complimented earlier. It was a nice thing, and teal had brought out a surprisingly tender look on Regina, but the only thing Emma wanted to do more than praise the dress was rip it off.

But then Emma was pushing her away. In a never ending chain of weak moments a bright ray of sense struggled through. It was like surfacing from an inky black ocean, hand raised over squinting eyes to block the sun, so intense and wise and all knowing. What they were doing was so sick and destructive. For god's sake they didn't even _like_ each other. Not once had Regina looked at her with friendship or love in her eyes, nor treated her with a thimble-full of respect. This fumbling need to feel something regardless of patience or a solitary kind word… it had 'wrong' written all over it. Emma felt disoriented by clawing nails, the fingers on her lace, and the breathy sighs in her ear. She couldn't seem to tell what was up and what was down.

Hands found themselves latched to Regina's shoulders, shoving cruel and careless. It was a pitiful attempt, one that would not be heeded. For a moment Regina whimpered at the loss of contact, thinking she might actually let herself be pushed aside. But then that thrill came over her, the danger of wanting Emma and all she encompassed. The blonde struggled once, but nowhere in that did she say stop.

And so Regina scrambled for a reconnection, planting a full mouth on Emma's with such force that they hit the siding with a thump. Her fingers resumed their relentless ministrations, coaxing the profanity from pale lips. Her only focus was to keep any rational talk where it belonged – in the sealed box specially made in their minds. Regina didn't want to think or talk or push away. She didn't want to doubt herself or that unspeakable warmth weaving through her ribs, that feeling which almost sabotaged her first challenge in the forest. Doubts were dangerous things, more dangerous than desiring Emma's touch. Maybe if she fucked it all away this disease inside her would be sucked out; this constant need to have someone would be extinguished. She tried so hard. It was a game, she told herself; a game where she didn't have to invest a part of herself in the consequences. She thought it would only take one attempt. Oh, had she been sorely mistaken.

Submerged once again in blinding passion, Emma's hand firmly sought out Regina's chin and tilted it so their lips met. Their tongues ran over one another in a fever. They pressed closer still, sealing space and any fate of abrupt endings. Shoulders digging into the dirt-stained siding, Emma arched into the thrusts. Her moans surge in intensity, matching that of Regina's fingers. Still, she wanted for more, more penetration, more of this crude force, more Regina. If only she would just give it to her, so they could walk away from this and never speak of it again.

Panting and squirming beneath the mayor, Emma bucked to the last quick pumps from Regina. With a cry she would sorely fail to recall Emma collapsed over the woman in a rather impolite fashion. She felt cradled for a time. The hands warming her back and waist made her safe from Winston, from drunk, horny imbeciles, from the whole damn world that she was born into. It lasted a matter of seconds and then it left just as soon as it came.

Just like that, the one thing she had sought after weeks of endless fantasizing and failings to capture by her own hand ended in a matter of minutes. Emma couldn't describe how it left her feeling, not disappointed per say, but like a half-drunk glass of cider. There didn't seem to be a grand finale, no period at the end of the sentence. Not until Regina could share in this feeling. Till she experienced this forbidden craving at the hands of a woman she so "clearly" hated.

She hazarded a glance at Regina who consigned herself to refashioning her appearance. Emma would have told her not to, that her dress looked fine with a few wrinkles and her mussed hair just added character. In post-orgasmic daze her mouth could have spewed any number of idealistic remarks, ranging from "You look really hot" to "That lipstick wasn't made to stay within the lines."

Thinking better of it, she locked her lips shut. Regina wouldn't want her opinion any more than she wanted to be touched. It was pretty obvious from the way she stood ignorant of her presence.

"Are you going to explain what that was about?"

"Pardon?"

Emma's eyebrows crunched, making lines in her forehead. "Well, does you banging me just now mean I'm off your shit list? Or was it a reminder that, sheriff or no sheriff, I'm still your bitch?"

"Bitch?" Regina echoed, matching the confusion.

And damn if that didn't sound good rolling off the mayor's tongue. Emma sucked in a deep breath, failing to ignore how thoroughly soaked her lace was. She exhaled with, "Seriously! What the hell do you want from me?! You send so many mixed signals I can hardly keep up. And then you stand there all 'Bitch?'" She mimed a poor impression of the mayor complete with hands on hips and condescending head jerk.

Regina was an image of detachment, even in the face of that horrendous interpretation. "What makes you think I want or need anything from you?"

"Your face."

It's enough to dissolve Regina's impassivity. It happened just as Emma imagined: shoulders crumbled, fists unclenched, the subtle tilt of a head, all minute gestures speaking volumes despite years of practice. For a moment it satisfied Emma like a glass of warm milk, until she realized what that face meant.

"You do want something." The words come out slow, almost robotic.

"And what if I do?"

"I… I don't know." Emma frowned because the answer was as hopeless as the question. "What do you want from me? Really, Regina, just tell me."

Regina met the woman's pleading eyes, actually _looking_. They never looked so pliant and childlike. Her study roved over the foolish, yet expressive face, not ever having seen such forest green eyes dependent on one seemingly modest answer.

"What is this about?"

The gentle prodding jerked Regina out of a fog. Her eyes focused just as Emma's hands fell lifeless to her sides. Her jeans still showed signs of rough handling – an undone zipper revealing darkened lace. And among other things: the bunched crinkles in a shirt previous hustled up, bruised lips, glowing skin, and those damn pleading eyes.

"Meet me at the bed and breakfast," Regina's gaze diverted in consideration before returning, "tomorrow."

Boots scuffed the pavement. Emma suddenly felt a bit sheepish in her current state of semi-undress. "W-why?"

The mayor sniffed, wholly annoyed by the need to spell it out. "A job interview. I am offering you a chance to win back your position as sheriff."

Emma blinked. "Wouldn't you rather have this interview in your office?"

"For this particular interview, dear, we will not be dealing in resumes and frivolous questionnaires."

"Oh," came the uncertain reply.

"Come prepared, Miss Swan." A scrutiny was made of the ex-sheriff from boots to tousled curls. Her eyes did not cut but scorch through what the mayor had left of the woman's clothes. Unexpected satisfaction consumed her at the state she had left that body in. The thrill that came from being inside Emma, again, surprised her to the point of trembling thighs. The danger left her so aching and ready that she couldn't wait for a simple tomorrow. Regina's mouth parted in a faraway sigh. "I expect to be satisfied."

Flushed once again, Emma allowed it to dawn on her. Green eyes gaped. " _Oh_."

* * *

 **Note:** The novel Regina mentions is _Venus In Furs_ by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch.


	5. The Greatest Performance of Her Life

Chapter Five: The Greatest Performance of Her Life

Emma was at a loss for what to wear. She had been standing in front of her closet for more time than anyone would admit in her position. Her wardrobe was small already, so choices were slim to none. But what exactly does one wear to a… well, she didn't really know _what_ to call this rendezvous. Considering Regina's track record it could be anything from another blackmail tape to getting stood up.

What would Regina expect to see? She could go with something simple: a t-shirt and jeans which never failed to draw a lingering eye. Emma let out an uncertain sigh. A pair of dark denim jeans collapsed on the bed, a soft white button down joining it.

Choice number two came in the fashion of the khaki shirt and pants she swore she would never wear on the job. Even after that promise and having been fired from the job Emma couldn't help the nostalgia of leaving with it. Though she'd certainly find the humor in showing up to this 'interview' clad to the nines in this little number, Regina… would not. Emma's head hung dejectedly as she slid the hanger to side. The uniform, though a tad kinky, was a disaster waiting to happen. Regina would probably accuse her of stealing public property.

What remained in her sorry excuse for a closet made Emma feel very pathetic: cutoff jeans, sweatpants, a few sweaters that screamed Mary Margaret, a collection of leather jackets, her parka, a sundress, some workout shirts…

"Wait," she muttered, hand thrusting forward to retrieve the item. "A sundress? _Where the_ _fuck_ did that come from?"

The white dress had wide shoulder straps and came down to the knees. It was dotted with sunflowers which seemed to magically come out at her like a pop-up book. Emma jerked her head back with a sour face. And then it hit her.

"Mary Margaret."

Shaking her head with a grumble, Emma returned the thing to the dust corner whence it came. The sly slip of hand on the part of her roommate went noticed and would be stored for reprimand at a later date.

As there was no way in hell she'd seduce Regina in a nauseating sundress, there remained only one option.

* * *

Bare feet clambered down the steps, startling Mary Margaret. She had been at the breakfast bar, grading papers and sipping orange juice. A place was already set next to her, consisting of a second glass of juice and a bowl of Frosted Cheerios sans milk. After that super awkward morning which hadn't been brought up since, she had broken normal routine and relegated her morning to a more public space.

The footsteps were more frantic than usual that morning. Mary Margaret dabbed up her chin where the orange juice spilt. As she cleaned, her eyes followed the bare feet up a pair of faded black slacks in dire need of steaming and widened at the matching blazer. The jacket hung its life on that one button Emma managed to clasp after 15 whole minutes. Beneath shown a simple white blouse which appeared to be the only thing that actually fit the woman.

"Oh my," Mary Margaret said, a little more drawn out than expected.

Suffice it to say Emma Swan wouldn't be caught dead in this ensemble. Their matching petrified looks both knew it.

Emma cleared her throat, looking anywhere but in the eyes of judgment. Her hand flopped rhythmically against her thigh.

"What's the occasion?" Mary Margaret asked in a hushed tone, like the whole thing was some super-secret operation.

"I, ah… I've got a thing." A raised brow begged for more. Emma rephrased slowly, word for word, "I have a job interview this afternoon."

"Really? That's fantastic, Emma! Oh, I'm so proud of you!"

Emma chuckled. "Simmer down. I haven't gotten the job yet."

"Well, tell me all about it." The roommate hunkered more comfortably in her stool for the gab fest ahead. Her eyebrows soared up thrillingly. "What is the position?"

"It's… I'd rather not say. Just until I know for sure. I don't want to jinx it, you know?"

"I suppose. Are you really nervous? You seem a bit on edge."

"I feel like a monkey in a suit," Emma complained, gesturing to the ensemble. Her bare foot came down a bit petulantly. "I'm signing up for the circus!"

"No, you're not," came the motherly scold. "It's very appropriate for a job interview. The first impression is key to winning him or her over."

"But I already –" Her lips snapped shut before she could finish. Mary Margaret couldn't know what was going on between the mayor and herself. The fallout from letting it slip would be damaging not only to Emma, but to her friend as well. The idea of the mayor and poor innocent Emma playing out an extra sick version of _Fatal Attraction_ might cause Mary Margaret a brain aneurism before Regina could even plan murder.

"And your appearance says everything about who you are."

Emma made a once over of herself before stating, "Right now it's saying I'm a cheap, overweight bimbo."

There was a gasp. "You are _not_ overweight, Emma Swan!"

A mouth twisted just as Emma raised a brow.

"Oh," Mary Margaret's hands flew out, "and you're not cheap or a bimbo!"

"Well, I obviously can't tell my own size. How am I supposed to keep up the mature look when I don't know my own blazer size?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she soothed with a slow, sympathetic nod. "In the meantime, let's just focus on this interview. Now," a pen and paper appeared from nowhere, "shall we roleplay? I can ask you some questions about your strengths and weaknesses, your work experience, where you would like to see yourself in five years…"

Emma cringed behind her hand, trying to scrub away the image of her best friend impersonating Regina for this mock interview. She consequently gagged and swore off breakfast.

When Mary Margaret reached the question of what her favorite animal was Emma waved her hands in a stopping motion. "That's really great of you to want to help out, Mary Margaret, but I think I'm prepared."

"You don't need any pointers?"

"No, I think I did my homework."

Once Mary Margaret was convinced she went before her friend to pat down the creases. Biting her bottom lip, Emma stood there like a manikin getting a makeover. She didn't take well to getting touched, even if it approached in the form of a gentle hand. Being taken care of came as foreign to her as a long lost son showing up on her doorstep.

The teacher's maneuvers flitted down to where the ends of the blazer met at a straining button. She frowned when the other didn't budge to her magic touch. She shrugged and chalked it up to a poor brand. The struggling button was given a loving pat before Mary Margaret stepped back to review her work. "That will have to do for now. When you –"

" _If_ I…"

" _When_ you get hired I'm going to take you to the department store to see about some clothes that fit. Now, about those feet… Do you have a nice pair of shoes to match?"

Emma face screwed in a wince and admitted, "Was kinda hoping you'd lend me a pair?"

Eyes narrowed, Mary Margaret tipped her head sternly as if her friend should know better than to go through life without at least one set of slip-ons. "Just this once."

"You're my savior."

* * *

A midday sun beat down on Storybrooke and baked everything it touched. Not a soul wandered the streets, the heat having forced them indoors. Even escape artist Pongo who made his fun by giving his owner a workout had been driven to snooze beneath the air conditioner.

Only one lone townsperson hazarded the humidity and that person was Emma Swan. Instead of riding in her hot, metal car she took to the sidewalk. As she wiped away the sweat gathering like an ocean on her forehead she realized two things.

Thing number one: black was not her brightest idea yet.

Thing number two: the fact that she was going to die of heat stroke wouldn't save her from being late to the interview. Regina's glaring eyes would cook her sunny side up before the sun ever had its way with her.

Borrowed shoes slapping the pavement steps, she kept her eyes downcast from the sun and the shame. Emma pulled at the sleeve of her blazer, forcing the edge to meet her wrist. She could just imagine the consequences which quite likely included, "The _least_ you could do, Miss Swan, was come in clothes that _fit_."

But why on earth would Emma Swan care about how she looked for the mayor? Did she want Regina to be impressed? If so, then when had this shifted from satisfying her own needs to those of the woman who so eloquently fucked her? No, Emma admonished herself. This was about getting her job back and nothing else. The plan was to go in there, get business done, and escape with her dignity and job intact.

Green eyes followed the cracks in the ground until they came to a tapping stiletto. Emma followed it up a vaguely similar pantsuit and shrunk beneath the gaze already melting her skin. Unconsciously, her hand came up to pull at her damp collar.

"You're late," Regina snapped and turned her heel, leaving Emma's mouth open in empty retort.

Suddenly struck by a self-conscious moment, Emma's hands fiddled with the clip holding up the sides of her hair. So much for making a first impression. Regina hadn't even supplied her usual once over. Emma could have taken the condescension in those sultry brown eyes, but not one glance? While the blazer didn't fit her exact dimensions it certainly revealed how much effort Emma put into this meeting. The pantsuit wasn't her style and Regina damn well knew that. The least she could have done was throw her a bone.

The bell chimed happily as the door shut behind. When Emma finally came up with a good excuse as to why she and the town mayor showed up at the same inn she was watching Granny hand over an antique silver key to Regina. The mayor took it with a smile and a nod.

"What in the…?"

"Coming, Miss Swan?"

"Um." She held a vague finger up and stared from the casualty in Regina's demeanor to the innkeeper's concerned face.

"You okay, hon?"

Emma swallowed. She suddenly felt very faint. And it wasn't due to the heat.

"It must be the heat," Granny settled with a nod. Closing the cash register with a snap that made Emma jump, she turned to the other woman. "Madame Mayor, your room has the basic amenities; queen bed, washroom, furnished, free low-speed internet, and fully air conditioned." Her head jerked to the paling woman. "I'd get her near a fan quick before she keels over."

"Thank you, Mrs. Lucas." Regina bowed her head graciously. "A pleasure as always."

Emma found herself following her around a corner to the staircase. She grabbed the fleeting arm before it got far.

"You want to explain what that was back there? What happened to a little confidentiality for god's sakes!" she hissed breathlessly. "If Granny knows she'll tell Ruby and everyone knows what she's like with gossip."

"The innkeeper and I have an understanding."

"Oh, now she's the innkeeper?"

"There is nothing to concern yourself with. Widow Lucas runs a legitimate business that hinges on patron discretion."

Emma blinked erratically and choked, "Are you saying Granny runs a brothel?"

"Don't get excited, dear. The town brothel is just across the street from the strip club. Or haven't you stopped by, yet?"

"Oh my hell. Is that a joke? Or mayoral speak for something?"

Brown eyes soared up. "I'm starting to remember why I fired her in the first place."

"You say you have an understanding with Granny. Do I want to know what that means? Have you…" A chill swept over Emma's flushed skin. A warning sensation made her feel lured by the blind witch in Henry's story book. Only in this reality she couldn't promise not to eat anything. "Have you _done_ this before?"

Regina smirked and continued up the stairs.

"Curiouser," Emma mused.

Before she could trail after something caught her eye – the place on the bannister where an olive tanned hand left. There were beads of perspiration dotting the wood. With a small inhale Emma wondered if Regina was as nervous as she. Was it even possible? The mayor had shown to dish a challenge as well as she met one, and displayed immunity to any verbal or otherwise physical attack.

The mayor stood as a shining example of fortitude. The only instance of vulnerability recalled was when Regina's eyes broadened over her straddled prey in the forest.

Alternatively, the trace of perspiration could be blamed on the summer heat. Having been a patron of the bed and breakfast, Emma was familiar with the poorly circulated air. The memory of sweaty, sleepless nights struck an uneasy tremor through her bones. There would not be enough cool air in GE history to get her through this. She climbed the stairs thinking _Damn, what if I pass out on her before she can critique my moves?_

They convened in one of the inn's more modest rooms. The mayor's purse found a home at a chair just as Emma closed the door, sealing her fate.

"Point of no return, huh?"

Regina fluffed her hair while scrutinizing the room. In return, she offered a distracted, "Hm?"

"Never mind."

"Dear, you're not nervous, are you?" Before Emma knew it her fists were taken in by the mayor. "You're hands are clammy," she observed, leaving no room for disparity.

"I-I'm actually fine now," came from Emma's lips. Since her hands had been taken captive she actually did feel better. An unlikely dose of confidence surged through her, straightening her posture and lifting her chin. Now their eyes met. Now they were equals. For the first time that day Emma took a moment to make a study in how Regina dressed for her. No, not for her – for the _interview_.

Regina pulled off a pantsuit exceedingly well. Among the mayor's lavish work wear it had to be the three-piece getup that Emma admired most. The dark shade and sharp lines outlined a severity which supplied the mayor authority, masculinity, influence, and justifiable narcissism. Yet for as harsh as that guise exerted there was a softness in how it was worn. From the creaseless, lintless ensemble it was evident that Regina took care of her things. A definite amount of fondness had been applied in the upkeep.

Every second spent on a slack button, every curve and shape of Regina's features caused Emma's pulse to quicken. She looked the same, in yet… different. Emma couldn't put a finger on it, but something in the way Regina stood there inches from pulling her into bed, waiting for whatever this was to commence told her this was new for both of them. Emma had slept with a lot of people, some acquaintances, others marks from her bounty hunting days, and fewer whom shared her company through the night, but none held a candle to the kind of insatiable wanting boring into her. This woman looked quite possessed in the moment, beholding Emma and drinking in all exposed flesh like she hadn't eaten in days.

By then the very last shred of nervousness had made itself scarce. Finally relaxed, Emma exhaled. Her mouth twisted into a smirk as the slight movement of her chest drew in wild brown eyes. Hungry, indeed.

For the sake of curiosity, Emma posed an inquiry. "So how does this work?"

Brown eyes snapped up. Realizing she was being spoken to, Regina cleared her throat. "Simple. This will be an evaluation of your skills. If you pass I will reinstate your position as sheriff."

"What, have you grown tired of David?" Though it may have ripped a few stitches in her undersized blazer, Emma crossed her arms over her chest. "It wouldn't surprise me. You pick up a toy and throw it away when it fails to hold your interest."

Teeth clacked shut on invisible prey. "And what would you know of it? You have been in Storybrooke all of five months."

"I don't have to be here long to know you have a thing for sheriffs. What puzzles me is why no one else has noticed."

"But do you really count, Miss Swan?" she asked, feigning consideration. "After all, you were awarded the badge by default."

"I should be offended. _Everything_ ," Emma stressed, "from that phony sex tape to sabotaging my dancing gig to a possibly humiliating assessment of my fuck-ability is at a level of perversity that would warrant you a straightjacket."

"And yet you came, knowing exactly what is expected of you. Even now you stay." Her voice trembled slightly on the last word.

The line between Emma's brows deepened. "That's more than I can say for how you left me in the damn forest!"

"So get back. You mentioned my restraint; the notion is well within the licenses of this interview."

"No."

"No?"

"I'm not going to indulge this behavior," Emma ground out through clenched teeth.

It wasn't enough to convince either of them. Regina couldn't take it with a grain of salt, not at the blush on Emma's cheeks or the husked dip in tone at the mention of this… _behavior_. As for Emma, she didn't trust a word that came from her own mouth due to the fact that it had grown dry at the sight of the mayor, a slight heave to her bosom and hairline darkened with perspiration (again, anxious or just a touch warm?).

"Did I fail to claim that this is a simple thing, dear? All you have to do is give in. I am _letting_ you."

"I'm not Graham."

"No," Regina granted with an incline of her head. Her eyes then glazed hungrily over the ill-fitted pantsuit and what she knew waited just as eager beneath. "No, you most certainly are not."

"Wait," Emma muttered dumbly. She frowned, "What is that supposed to mean?"

An evil chuckle ran out through the bedroom. "Well," came the drawl, a brow arched, "Graham didn't _talk_ me to bed."

It was said with the perfect dash of spite and anticipation. In the end, it wasn't blackmail that sparked Emma to action, nor was it an imaginary prodding from behind that pushed her over into that familiar ocean where common sense went to die. It was nothing and everything rolled into one tangled ball of _What the hell?_ That question went unanswered just as Emma's hand slipped.

A well-fit black blazer, the lapels outlined with a daring white stripe, fell to the floor where mothballed trousers joined it. Several more items collapsed to the finished wood: a second pair of trousers, another jacket, a waistcoat, two white blouses, killer stilettoes, and homely slip-ons.

"Mm, a bed. How novel."

Emma followed the comment down to the comforter and the naked woman arching her back on it like a goddess. An emerald studded hand caressing the material she laid on, tracing the swirling gold motifs and abstract teardrops of ultramarine. She was a vision of patience and, yet, above all the creepy shit Emma had to take at the hands of this woman it was that patience that disturbed her most.

One leg, bent at the knee, crossed over the other lying flat. She was propped up on her elbows. Her skin was soft from where Emma stood, the color of cream and coffee – two vices of hers so ironically painted on fleshy desire. Regina was petite, but there were areas where strength derived; shoulders, jaw, quality thighs and a flat stomach. The place beneath the skin, where hidden from eyes and intention something more fortified than all the rest of her pined for nothing and no one living. And yet it was the very thing that sustained her existence.

Breasts heaved under nipples hardening in cool conditioned air. These curvaceous things were a feature well-developed whether they lazed on display or were concealed beneath a stitch of lace. Her smoky eyeshadow matched the lean patch below her abdomen. Nails which many often mistook for claws exploited the blood out of every shade of red. Her toes, not petite enough to escape the daily pain of heels, curled at the anticipation so personally felt and so shared with the room's other participant.

She looked more a subject to be painted in oils on canvas than a cool, calculating mayor. Emma hadn't picked up a brush in her life, but with so attractive a model in her midst she swore she felt a fresh sense of inspiration creep up on her. Yet it was not her duty to have Regina sit still long enough to beautify a canvas. And with the mayor waiting in nothing but hooded eyes and a self-satisfied smirk, Emma could hardly call herself objective.

 _A bed. How novel._

Emma chuckled inwardly, considering how far she had come (or not come) with Regina. If this was not about getting her job back, or about fighting over a kid, or any abundant issues they'd exchanged words and jabs over, Emma just might find herself in this same position. It was a strange notion to think Emma and Regina could be together in a room and just be themselves.

"Don't mistake," Emma said, prowling to the edge of the bed. "We might not be roughing it in the forest or doing it on your $5,000 desk," Emma planted her hands on the bed, leaning in to emphasize, "but I'm going to do things you won't be able to wash off for days."

Her lips met the bent knee to finish (or in their case, to _start_ ). The ends of blonde hair wisped over Regina's thighs, stomach, and breasts, leaving a trail of quivering flesh in its wake. Mindless of consequences or propriety, Emma's mouth took Regina's.

The reaction was unexpected. Regina's body tensed. It only lasted a sliver of a second, but in that moment she considered what she had done (was doing) and if it would cause irreparable damage. Had it always been like this? Had she always been this way? And then Regina remembered: no harm could come from what was already damaged. It couldn't be fixed. It couldn't be rehabilitated to a higher form.

But then Emma was touching her and her body relaxed. If Regina had a sentimental bone in her body she would have described it as melting wax to the heat of a flame. But there was no magic about the touch. No spark or implied courtship in the way Emma's hand ghosted around the swell of her chest. It was possessive and regardless of impartiality. Emma had every intention of taking something and never giving it back. It brought relief to Regina that this woman, this girl of disreputable poise, could act contrary to the glorious potential the town praised in her. Relief and insurmountable satisfaction.

Regina should have been disgusted by the threat. If only Emma had known all the things she had to wash away in her life. It could fill a diary, a coffin, and a heart-shaped box. Decades later and still she scrubbed between her thighs with a grimace and shook off the misfortune of having a vivid memory.

She should have spat at the blatant threat to rein in control, a thing the mayor had a monopoly over for 28 long years. But instead, she gasped.

Emma heard the mayor's breath and knew she had done something right. She flipped Regina onto her stomach and proceeded in open-mouthed kisses, gripping hands, exploring and worshiping and pleasuring. In her own way, she walked a fine line between kindness and indecency, but there was no mediocrity in her touch. A moan, scream, a startled inhale or a broken sigh – Emma took it and took it with pride. If she gave pleasure, Regina accepted graciously. If it was pain, Regina grappled for it like water in the desert.

Their fingers weaved together as Emma stretched their arms towards the pillows. She lay keening away atop the writhing body. The quilt, shifting and jiving beneath them, muffled Regina's feverish lip service. Emma buried her head in the crook of a neck to make out the groans. The mayor, always one to govern undue language, was clearly not censoring herself. Emma wondered with a wry smile if she knew what she was saying or how easily she succumbed. She wondered, smile growing wicked and wide, how prudent the mayor's lips would be if her fingers allowed themselves to meet at the gathering wetness between eagerly spread thighs.

Wondering led to action as Emma never had been a patient woman. Using her finger she dragged it down Regina's spine and swirled at the dimple where it ended. She kissed away the shiver, thereby eliciting another. She kneed aside the leg for wider access and entered the mayor as she did in her office.

Regina arched, mouth open in a groan. She clawed at the bedspread, forehead pressing in so hard she feared she'd sink through. Her eyes saw a velvet black void at how hard they shut to the thrusts. She saw behind a space exploding with hot white stars and thought she would forget the whole thing. It was so different from how Emma sprawled her out on her desk that fateful day. Then there had been desperation behind the act – the unknowing pleading of a desperate woman. But this, this force washing over her like a relentless current, was a different kind of desperation. This desperation didn't know what it wanted. It was lost, near abandoned from all thought it was impossible to predict what came next.

But there was something to be said for adaptation. Soon Emma had her thrusting back on twisting, pumping fingers. Regina felt so filled and satisfied she felt her own control slipping away. Her moans came deeper and longer, her thighs trembled and selfishly clamped around her invading desire, her expectation stretched beyond the norm associated with all ex-sheriffs of Storybrooke.

Regina was turned on her back, eyes opening from an exploding night sky to the generic cream painted ceiling. Just as it seemed like the performance had finished and as she began to count the turns of an oscillating fan, Emma's mouth resumed what fingers so eagerly set about. Regina's lungs burned at the sharp inhale. She bit down on a scream, not wanted to reveal any more than what the innkeeper discerned from this appointment. Panting with exertion and hips rocking, she felt Emma work between her legs. A tongue glossed through arousal which ran wet and aimless. The mouth she dreamed of slapping and kissing and washing out with soap at times had a delirious effect on her. It sucked and nipped and delved and flicked in a manner of toe-curling delight. And she did it again and again and again. Regina was more than happy to spur Emma on for assessment's sake if not for her own. She wanted to push her much too far for either of their comfort and see how tough this blonde from nowhere really was.

And Regina understood. There was premeditation in Emma's talents as a lover. Unhindered by the subject's gender or disposition, she knew exactly what to do and how it would be received. Her hands and mouth moved in tandem to provide the desired effect. She could pull Regina undone with 'ohs' and 'gods' and the kind of tripe talk associated with peasants. She prevailed over her rival in a most unusual confidence. If only the same could be applied to her sheriffing, Regina mused fleetingly.

"Aren't you going to drill me with questions?" Emma rose to ask. "This is, after all, an interview."

A gust of a sigh blew out from Regina. The need grew strong within her, but she refused to beg for it. Her head fell to her shoulder to muffle the groan. "Are you always this intolerable?"

Emma chuckled against a thigh. "Why of course, Madame Mayor. Isn't that how all the good employees excite their superiors? With dogged persistence?"

Regina hissed as the tongue returned its lavishing. This time her moans went unhindered, growing just as impatient as the last. Her hand went to plant itself against the headboard and gave her leverage to bound against Emma's two fingers which soon became three.

Emma was right about one thing: she did need this. In that sordid tryst which became the source for blackmail, the sheriff had made certain assumptions about her which were not limited to the fact that Regina liked "jumping" Emma in the "god damned woods" more than she would have liked to admit, or that, yes, giving is just as good as receiving. Yes, she wanted Emma to touch her. Yes, it felt good. Yes, god damn it, Emma had been right.

" _Yes_ ," husked Regina, too dazed to be certain whether it had come from her mouth or her thoughts.

The wood creaked against Regina's hand which pressed harder for leverage. She refused to touch Emma and her beautiful blonde tresses. The most she allowed for importunity came in bucking, bounding hips and a series of daring groans. And oh had Emma granted. In full.

Though at the mercy of that insipid mouth, it was the spirit of Emma's confidence that sent Regina's back arching and hands and toes curling into the bedspread. Regina came with a riotous cry that startled the innkeeper from her daily Sudoku. Emma moaned into her work, equally prosperous from finally committing the mayor to abandoned writhes and curses.

Panting exhaustively, Regina turned away on her side just as Emma came to lie beside her. The cool dismissal stumped her into a frown. Was that the kind of appreciation she deserved? Did she do something to offend? Or not to offend? In disgruntled silence Emma dared to think she had not performed to the mayor's specifications. It certainly _sounded_ like Regina appreciated her. Which begged the question: Why the cold shoulder?

As the minutes trailed by with nothing to pierce the air but slowing breaths, Emma became immobile by that familiar thing called nerves. Naked on her back she picked at her cuticles and absentmindedly sucked arousal from the tips of her fingers. The air conditioner ticked away midst heavy silence.

"So," Emma broke finally. She didn't move a muscle, instead only allowing a subtle shift of her eyes. "Did I pass?" Her eyebrows were in a perpetual state of anticipation, so high they were mere centimeters from her hairline.

Regina remained still. If it were not for her breathing she could have passed for dead. Several minutes passed like hours before she spoke. "A follow-up interview should be in order."

"Now?" Emma asked, eyes lit up expectantly.

A sigh and then, "No." Regina slipped from the bed and marched towards her clothes. "Unlike you, dear, I have a job that needs tending after."

"That's it? No feedback at all?"

"I never took you for the type."

"Come on, Regina. This is your chance for constructive criticism."

"And what if I have none to give?" Forgoing the buttons on her waistcoat, Regina slipped on the last piece of her ensemble, perfecting the look of Thoroughly Fucked Mayor of Storybrooke. "What if it is simply…" she tipped her head, feigning consideration before looking back with a shrug, "criticism?"

"Ouch."

Regina grinned despite herself. Her eyes diverted elsewhere as she considered just who was under critique. Performance in bed was a two-way street and Regina found herself wondering about her own. To her disdain, memory served poorly. She had just finished what was probably the most important staged even of her life and she couldn't remember a thing. Had she given herself over too soon? Too much? She was too consumed by the lasting heat ignited between her legs to think straight.

She recovered with a perfect blend of disdain and professionalism. "After I have consulted my schedule I will contact you with the time and place of our next meeting. I should think your calendar is _wide_ open."

Emma's jaw dropped a bit at the dripping intent. The smoldering gaze had her thighs trembling as Regina's had just moments ago. Lying positively naked and unfucked before the mayor was a vulnerable state she'd rather not experience again. In fact, she wished her to leave. Damn the niceties of farewell because the longer Emma stayed bare in Regina's presence the sooner she'd come by the desire in those lingering brown eyes. Left dry of praise, she would not give Regina the satisfaction.

"Sounds good." Emma shrugged casually. The tips of her fingers met her forehead and flicked out in a weak salute. "It's been a pleasure."

Regina wouldn't take the bait. Instead she threw her dagger eyes and parted from their room.


	6. Gratitude

Chapter Six: Gratitude

The sheriff of Storybrooke kicked back in her chair, ankles crossed haphazardly on the desk. In one hand was a styrofoam cup of coffee and the other a glazed donut. Everything was as it had been with one exception: the sheriff actually kept busy.

It had been just one of the terms agreed upon between the mayor and newly reinstated sheriff. After a second, third, and shocking fourth assessment, Emma had started to wonder if this was about getting her job back at all. Striped of conscience, she pushed herself to perform the kind of marionette acts a circus player would put on. Regina, the audience and secondary participant, gave only the smallest of comments, never enough to clue Emma in on the future of her career in Storybrooke.

Yet by the fourth meeting it seemed as the two had struck a chord together, however unspoken. They didn't discuss how easy it was to fall into bed or how it felt for Emma to give so much with the only consolation being a usurpation of the mayor's control. It was an intriguing relationship neither would admit to dwelling on. It was a kind of fun Emma didn't dare question. She closed her eyes to questions more often than usual. Mirrors too. Those things were off limits. She shied away from anything that would stare back at her, asking why, why, why.

Something about it caused Emma to think of them not as interviews but auditions. And it wasn't just about Emma's performance; she rated Regina just as well. Both met for the inevitable, both seeking companionship in whatever context. They played their hands and parted as if it meant absolutely nothing. The interview – like any audition for a play – held that the participants went above and beyond their mere selves; they lied, they fantasized, they embellished, and that's where things got dangerous. Because like many lies, they accompanied a bit of truth, a bit of private satisfaction that aches for the kind of passion no living soul can unlock.

These "auditions" as Emma had come to call them drew a fine line between reality and fantasy. For Emma, she couldn't separate Regina's intentions from her own. Everything about how they came together blurred to obscurity. If they kept going as they were would it be a result of Regina's cruel demands or their shared conclusion that this was what they were now: lovers abandoned from conscience?

It all came to a grinding halt when Regina reinstated Emma. The news came as a surprise and affected her just as strongly. For weeks it seemed like her and Regina had been wreaking havoc and fulfilling a universal truth all at the same time and at the speed of light. Now it was over – the wordless interviews, Granny's casual remarks on thin walls, and Regina… poor, powerless Regina in fits of pleasure. Emma felt spun off her axis.

No longer an ordinary citizen, Emma had a duty to uphold the law and practice due diligence. For as much a tug that bed at the inn still had on her she would not look a gift horse in the mouth. Now that she had the job that was rightfully hers Emma would not fail. She would not fall into the same old petty squabbles or get fooled into another blackmail attempt. She would not give the mayor reason to. Therefore, the sheriff had to actually do some sheriffing.

Not much about the job had changed. In her absence, David had not completely fucked up the department. If anything, her office looked a little tidied up than normal. As per the agreement Emma had to change several things about how the department was run. First and foremost: consistency. All paperwork, messages, patrols must be carried out in a timely fashion daily. Emma agreed, as long as she wasn't on call Sunday or _Funday_ as she dubbed it. Second, the sheriff would organize a new department which would be overseen by the mayor. Though possessing a novice awareness of Maine wildlife and forestry, Emma was tasked to lead a committee on protecting the town's natural resources. The Storybrooke Department of Conservation and Forestry would be established in honor of the late Graham Humbert who spent years lobbying for environmental safeguards. Emma called bullshit, but acquiesced to a boiling glare.

There were concessions, too; the fact that she could still eat whatever she wanted no matter the calorie count, and hire a deputy as long as they performed adequately and did not cost more than the department budget allowed.

For as appreciative of life and a steady income as Emma became, she did not believe Regina had done all this out of the goodness of her heart. No one goes through the trouble of blackmailing their enemy and then rescinding that threat without the guarantee of victory. But the question remained: what victory? Had four rolls in the sack changed things so radically that winning no longer mattered? Could it be that Emma's presence was wanted in Storybrooke?

Questions, doubts… these things were forbidden. The only thing Emma had to distract her was work. And so work she did.

"Be grateful for what you've been given," she drilled to herself between sips of coffee and reading a committee member's proposal.

Mantras were a handy thing when sexual frustration and moral dilemma haunted you day and night. It had been how many days since she slept with the mayor? And when would she start feeling sorry for it?

" _Grateful_ , Emma. You're the _sheriff_."

As if on cue her phone rang. The voice on the other line, in all its condescension and wily riddles, grated on her ear. It wasn't until the speaker raised its concern and called for action that Emma straightened in her chair. Suddenly, like never before, she entered sheriff mode.

It took minutes to arrive on the scene. No sooner did she slam the door of her cruiser did an upsurge of fury consume her. A sense of duty spurred her to action, tightening her fists and fighting to recall Miranda procedure. This was her town and she'd been given a second chance at protecting it. No one would get away with breaking the law without getting enforced by it in return.

Broken glass crunched underfoot. Emma tiptoed around the worst of it while scrutinizing the scene. While the front door glass panels were shattered to bits, the integrity of the larger store window held fast, but in a different fashion. Blue paint dribbled from the large block letters, obscuring its true message. Based on dry time and application width she discerned that the tag had been written with aerosol spray, generic brand, probably from the local hardware store.

Hands on her hips, Emma shook her head. The world had seen better graffiti in the caves of Neanderthals.

"Amateurs."

"Sheriff Swan," Gold called from the glass littered entrance. "Your response time is most unusual."

"You said you managed to catch the kids that did this?"

"In the shop, waiting for you as requested."

His tone made her skin crawl. It was the kind of thing the old Sheriff Swan would have brushed off with an annoyed eye roll. Not this time. "When I'm wearing the badge it's hardly a request."

"Indeed," he settled with a nod.

Gold gestured her inside. As she swept past him he cast a lingering study, frowning at something he couldn't quite pin down.

The culprits were teenagers, too cool for school and hardly ones to earn the honor of the brightest of their generation. They leaned sluggishly against the glass counter, occasionally running a blue spattered hand through their matching Kurt Cobain mops. The image wasn't a far cry from the 17 year old Emma Swan. The only difference being Emma actually knew who Kurt Cobain was.

"Alright, let's take this outside."

"Sheriff –"

"This is a crime scene, Gold. While you may have apprehended the suspects in your own place of business, I'm not going to risk any further destruction of evidence by conducting an interrogation in the same area."

He allowed it with peculiarity, raising his brow when the sheriff turned before there was room for disagreement.

While it wasn't customary for the victim, as it were, to oversee the questioning, Gold wouldn't have his rights trampled on. Emma corralled the boys near the cruiser with the pawnbroker listening not far away. During the proceedings an impatient tap of a cane could be heard.

"Names?" Emma asked. She scribbled down the pertinent information in her notepad. When their contact information was recorded things took a serious turn. "Why aren't you guys in school?"

They shrugged apathetically.

"I'm going to need more than shrugs and incoherent mumbles." She bent down slightly to catch a glimpse beyond the moppy veils. "Can I at least get some eye contact?"

"We were just messing around," explained one of the teenagers, the assumed leader of the graffiti duo. "It's freedom of expression."

"You do realize your little artistic demonstration here has damaged property, right? Vandalism is a crime in case you didn't know. But seeing as this is your first offense neither of you will be charged with a felony."

Twin snickers followed with a fist bump.

"Don't celebrate just yet." Folding her arms, Emma cast a superior glare between the two. "I still have to write you up for a misdemeanor and call your parents. And depending on whether Mr. Gold files charges…"

"I most certainly will be," sneered the wronged shopkeeper. "Their 'messing around' just cost me 400 dollars in damages."

"What?!" the other boy spoke up, arms outstretched. "It's just a little paint!"

Gold's fist tightened around his cane. "And broken windows."

Emma chimed in, "Just because you're underage doesn't mean you're immune from taking responsibility for your actions."

The older one reeled back. "This is bullshit!"

"Listen, kid. If you want attention get a twitter account. You want your voice heard? Intern at City Hall and go into politics."

"Work for a bunch of stuck up, paper pushers who are out of touch with the real world? I don't think so."

"Yeah," said the other teen, chin jut out defiantly, "and their heads are so far up the mayor's ass they can't tell up from down. I hear my parents talk. The whole of City Hall is corrupt. Even _you_ gotta admit to kissing up to the Queen of Storybrooke."

Emma felt her insides churn just as the whites of her knuckles appeared. "I really think you should mind what you say in front of the sheriff, son."

"What? You gonna tattle on me?"

"No, but it's well within my power to teach you a lesson on respecting your elders."

It actually wasn't in her job description, but the little ingrates didn't have to know. She had her cuffs and her fists, both just as easily demonstrated a fine point.

"You got no authority here," said the leader. His eyes shifted to his friend, displaying a look of uncertainty in his statement. "A small town sheriff can't even have a gun."

"Actually, they can."

"So where is it, Sheriff? I don't see one."

"Don't need one to deal with on punks like you."

That seemed to shut him up. The other one didn't back down as easily. Emma wasn't surprised. It was usually the quiet ones that toted a mean streak; Jeffrey Dahmer, Ted Bundy, Buffalo Bill. While overexaggerized the gist of it had planted itself in her head.

"It's just a fear tactic, Jason. Don't let her scare you. She's just as much a mindless idiot like the rest of 'em."

Before Emma even knew what was happening her hand rose to backslap the egotistical grin off the kid's face. A red fury colored her cheeks while the tendons in her neck sprung up like thick, ribbed mooring rope. A spark had ignited, the hottest part of the flame filling her soul. The fire which passed before her eyes had the boys stepping back. They were so taken hostage by the furious gaze that they wouldn't have seen the blow. However, someone else did.

" _Emma!_ "

Ablaze eyes blinked back to evergreen. She spied the hand that was her own in a downward strike and froze just before it completed its goal. An acidic taste coated her mouth and she swallowed it down, wincing as the burning traveled down her throat. She glanced at the source of the shout.

"What's the trouble here?" Leroy scrambled from across the street. "Emma?"

A seemingly relieved Gold recaptured the step taken forward and eased the precautionary grip on his cane.

" _Nothing_ ," Emma stated with firmness that struck Leroy in a flinch. "We're just having a chat about respecting our elders. Weren't we?"

The teenagers, still wide-eyed and shaky, nodded.

Leroy looked from the delinquents to the sheriff. He finally patted Emma on the arm, coaxing her away from the scene. "Well, it looks like you're all finished up here. Want a drink? I'm buying."

"I'm still on the clock."

"Yeah, but I'm not and I'm thirsty. What better company than the sheriff?" He gave a brotherly shake to her shoulder while passing a subtle mouthing to the shop owner. Gold nodded.

"Fine," Emma mumbled. "Whatever."

When Leroy got a few blocks between them and the pawnshop he asked, "So what's with the gestapo act? Is that a new sheriff tactic now? Because I gotta say, it doesn't really suit your image."

"You'd be doing the same if you heard the shit they were spewing."

"How bad could it be?" Leroy chortled, good naturedly.

"They were acting like immature pricks!" insisted Emma. Her blonde curls waved about with her twisting head. "Insulting the law, City Hall, the mayor, _me_!"

"Sister, everyone's pissed on the Man at least once in their youth. It's a rite of passage."

"If they think it's alright to get away with being rude they'll use that as a standard for every other crime. Are you saying I should have just left it alone?"

"You dealt with the vandalism as a sheriff should," Leroy stated, indicating with a finger. "But I gotta admit, Emma, trash talking is not exactly against the law. If they were being annoying little twits it's their parent's problem, not yours." Emma's mouth opened in retort but he got his hands up to stop her. "Don't get me wrong, I'm the last person who'd defend kids. I know nothing about 'em and the stuff I do know has me raising my drink to god in thanks that I don't have any. But you don't get paid enough to police the mouths of babes."

"Point taken."

"And don't forget it, sister. Now, how about that drink?"

Emma followed after with a spring in her step. "More like _drinks_."

* * *

"Oomph! Excuse me! I am so sorry – Oh! Emma, it's you."

"Yeah, me," she drawled. Bending down she helped the assistant pick up his fallen paperwork. "Is the mayor in?"

Erik raised his watch before answering. "She should be wrapping up for the day. But if I were you I'd wait to see her tomorrow."

"Why?"

"She's interviewing a possible candidate for the Director of Housing Authority. A lucrative position," he elaborated in a hushed tone.

"An interview? This late?"

He shrugged. "The mayor never sleeps."

"Right." Emma was intimately familiar with the sleeping habits of their illustrious mayor.

She shuffled her feet and pretended to collect herself as Erik bid farewell. When the door closed behind him and the coast was clear she proceeded forward.

With Erik gone her carefully designed façade slipped. She stumbled over her feet and caught herself with a hand planted against the wall. Her head shook off the dizzy spell.

Halting before the door, Emma made a point to pat down her clothes and fashion them back into some form of suitability. She rolled her eyes, knowing the mayor wouldn't accept her either way.

"Tough shit," she mumbled and struck the door with her knuckles.

Blonde hair tossed back, the sheriff entered before summoned.

At the head of the small conference table Regina sat with her back to Emma. Her legs were crossed and she was fingering a sheet of paper. In the chair diagonal hunched a mousy young woman. Her ash blonde hair was tied back in a messy bun. Thick black glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She looked nice enough. Emma observed her pretty features, masked by the glasses, the up do, and the grim expression adopted by all who entered Her Majesty's office, and detected timidity in her posture. The young candidate seemed about as coerced into the position as a cow rallied for slaughter.

"You're going to have to cut this short." Emma tipped her head to the young woman. "Sorry," she lobbed, clearly not apologetic.

Regina didn't even have to turn in her chair. "Colleen, this is Sheriff Swan. She has the trying habit of barging in when unwanted."

Green eyes burned into the high-backed chair. "Well, hello to you too."

"It would greatly benefit you to lock your office door when the Sheriff is about. I myself have suffered undue disruption. And it is costly. Present case included."

Colleen perked up in her seat, blinking rapidly behind the thick frames. "Does that mean I have the job?"

A lazy eye strolled through the resume. "I was speaking hypothetically, dear."

"Regina…" Emma prompted.

Still, the mayor refused to meet her eyes. " _Yes?_ "

"This is official business."

"And so is this meeting."

"Please?"

A pause blanketed the office wherein a scuffed, vodka stained boot tapped at the heel and the sweaty hands of a candidate wrung themselves raw. Those who did not go by the name of Madame Mayor jumped when the silence broke.

"Miss Hale, will you excuse me?"

Regina rose and followed the sheriff into the hall before Colleen could stutter a response.

The clicking of Gucci heels stopped in a private wing. The location was far enough from the mayor's office, but not a distance comfortable enough for Regina to raise her voice.

"What is so important you had to interrupt a professional meeting?" she asked. In the breeze of the hallway she brought the ends of her sweater closed before folding her arms over it.

"Why are you conducting interviews after hours?"

"That is no concern of yours. Now if you would please explain your behavior."

Glassy green eyes narrowed. "What kind of _interview_?"

"Don't get excited, dear. It is hardly what you think."

"Is that smirk supposed to comfort me?"

"Oh, am I supposed to pay mind to your feelings, now? I do not recall that detail ending up in your redrawn contract."

Emma stomped her boot, hands waving forth. "Just answer the question, Regina!" she hissed. "What kind of interview?"

"It is just like you," Regina replied slowly. Every word weighed as much as the stretch of time since that fourth stay at the bed and breakfast.

Emma's face screwed into a squint. In her state of post-Leroy hosted festivities she could barely make out the lovely shape of the mayor. "Just like me what?"

"It is just like you to take a few meaningless trysts as justification for possessive control. I cannot think of any better candidate to chase down a loose Pongo than a pup of a sheriff."

"You're going to stand there with a straight face and tell me it was meaningless?" Emma's cackle bounded off the corridor walls. "After you begged me for assessment after assessment? Four in total?"

Regina shot her a murderous glare. "I did _not_ beg."

"And I am _not_ a fucking puppy to be played with."

Just as it seemed like more jealous accusations would be slung forth, Emma gave a weighty sigh. A hand brushed at her cheek and roved to scrub at the back of her neck. Head angled down as if muttering to herself, "And I came here actually thinking you would come running into my arms after three weeks."

"Three weeks?"

"Oh, come on. Don't give me that. Don't act like you haven't counted."

"Miss Swan," Regina scolded. Her glare held a moment before breaking off to the polished floor. She searched it, tile by tile. Her head shook, rising to meet Emma with closed eyes. "Contrary to your reason for a private conference this is not deemed as official business."

" _Everything_ is business to you."

Regina scowled.

"Why can't you just take a break for once?"

"What?" The mayor took a moment to insult the woman in a seething once over. "With _you_?" A few buttons on the sheriff's top were loose. The same could be said for her entire appearance: untethered and indifferent to everything save the mayor's attentions. Though Emma had always shared a likeness to a semi-roused college student, Regina detected an uncharacteristic rashness in her after hours state. She could hardly stand up unassisted. "Have you been _drinking_?"

"I am your _fucking_ sheriff and you have the gall to lecture me on the legal limit?"

For as uncouth as Emma's lip presented, Regina couldn't help but stare at it. She wet her own mouth, finding it parched and sensitive to touch. In all the hours spent in her air conditioned building that day Regina felt a trace of sweltering heat graze her. The sudden change in temperature elicited a shiver down her spine.

There was something incredibly attractive about how uninhibited Emma was acting. Her cheeks were brightened by a touch of natural blush, a cool sweat beaded at her hairline which Regina followed to a sun stained neck and the beating pulse she swore she could read. She matched it in time with her own – down to the very second. And the eyes – they were glossed over in reckless hope, shifting between each of Regina's own like a skittish puppy's would.

Emma looked like the ideal prey: weak, wanting, and begging for it. It made Regina just as slick beneath her skirt as it did when the curling lip flung its curse upon her. Fucking sheriff, her thoughts recounted. Yes, _fucking_ sheriff indeed.

A wounded expression befell Emma. "Can't we just –"

"Save it," snapped the mayor. She turned on her heel and marched back to her office.

By the time Emma reached the door Colleen was gathering together her portfolio. Unsure of what had passed in all of 30 seconds, her frown deepened to match the young candidate's.

"I will give Erik instructions to contact you for rescheduling," Regina assured in her usual collected voice. She gently ushered Colleen out with an outstretched hand as Emma stared dumbly from behind. "Please accept my apologies for cancelling."

Colleen nodded vaguely. Walking from the unexpectedly short job interview, her head twisted back just in time to catch the space of a closing door and the rascally grin inside.


	7. Lust, Caution

Chapter Seven: Lust, Caution

Serving as the mayor's executive assistant, Erik surmised, was much like what he imagined serving the Queen of England was like. There never arose a moment where her most faithful servant blabbed to the press, triggered scandal in a spiteful tongue, or jeopardized the integrity of the mayor's office. Of course, it had been understood from the foundation that _everyone_ worked for the mayor. Erik's position, though, ranked far above the rest. The 'Special Relationship,' as citizens of Storybrooke nicknamed, was held together with a confidence none could comprehend.

He was her right hand man; always present to defend policy, promote order, and retrieve a lunch order when called for. He was a shining example of loyalty without the pomp, and he discovered that he was quite fond of the position he likened to an almost divine calling.

While the mayor and ably willing assistant upheld a sense of formality in the public eye, behind closed doors it was a more casual affair. His duties here were just as shrouded in secrecy, among them included the interior design of her office and tracking the whereabouts of then ex-Sheriff Swan. He had access to the intimate details of the mayor's personal itinerary, having scheduled medical and hair appointments on her behalf. Erik exhibited such trustworthy company that he was even allowed the affections of her son.

While he would not exaggerate their relationship to the point of friendship, he did view himself as a kind of confidante in a professional capacity. Erik was the first to hear of policy before it presented before council meetings. All her speeches went through the keen eyes of her assistant and returned clean and sparkling and humored with an occasional German turn of phrase. He was the only person she could rail to about incompetent workforce and frivolous spending. His silent contribution made him ideal. Erik, though sharp as a tack and independently minded, knew his place. Even the rare request for advice was granted with a soft spoken opinion, something that wouldn't rustle the feathers of opposing sides. In the end, he always chose the mayor regardless of his own politics. It was the reason why he currently resided as the longest running clerk in service to the mayor.

One such example of 'closed door laboring' occurred that morning. Erik sat in comfort and under no duress across from the mayor. Regina had spent the first two hours of their workday ironing out the annual State of the Town address, while he edited briefings. He worked with his usual high level of cooperation, but had recently been distracted.

Though the mayor's behavior had not been unusual enough to voice concern over, Erik began to take closer notice. Impromptu, urgent matters took her away from the office more and more. Lunch breaks sent him across town to venues he never knew existed, and when the hardworking assistant was usually the last to lock up, lately it had been the mayor who burned the midnight oil. She could also be described as growing more secretive. One instance she failed to supply him her personal itinerary in managing dry cleaning pickup, so he cautioned a look only for the blank white pages to stare back. According to Erik's observations Regina was becoming forgetful, spontaneous, and frightfully nonconfrontational.

Most peculiar of all, a kind of hush surrounded his mayor. When a flurry of activity echoed through the corridor she was quick to close her office door rather than snap at the heels of boisterous clerks. She hardly instigated a battle, and, to Erik's grief, rarely asked for his opinions. She was like a petulant giant sedated, her once booming growl now a delicate vibration. It was as if some great force had struck her dazed. There were times Erik had to repeat his inquiries and reports in order to snap his boss out of it.

Business became a secondary priority and had persisted in this manner for days. In fact, the mayor's behavior began around the time Erik bumped into the sheriff that one night. Strange, he thought.

Stealing a glance beneath his blonde lashes, Erik saw the mayor scribble through her speech. Her stride had not changed and her lips remained still as marble. It was only a matter of time before she would excuse herself for an unscheduled appointment at some nameless location.

Eric went back to the briefing in his lap, but continued to puzzle over new insight. Could Emma be reason for the mayor's personality change? Were they fighting over poor Henry again? Or perhaps they had come to an arrangement? The latter would certainly have explained Regina's restraint. Erik knew more than anyone in Storybrooke how much she loved that child. She would make any deal with the most hard-headed foe to ensure the safety and well-being of her son.

"Erik, I just remembered I have an engagement with the County Director of Safety and Health regarding the town's mining zones." Her eyes roved blankly over her planner. "It is at two o'clock. I think I will take an early lunch."

He frowned, absolutely positive there was no 'engagement' scheduled in or out of her itinerary. "But it's only 10:30 in the morning."

"I want to have time to prepare for his arrival."

He watched the desk being cleared quickly and with premeditation. "I can save you the time by retrieving something for you, Madam. Yes?"

"Thank you, Erik, but that will not be necessary." Swiping down wrinkles in her gray trousers, Regina snatched up her car keys and purse, both waiting within convenient reach. "Feel free to use the space of my desk while I am gone. I know how you like to sprawl out."

He returned her smile, not feeling the usual warmth the teasing elicited. Even her words seemed as distracted as the smile.

His veiled concern followed her brisk heel clicks out of the office. He hoped Emma had nothing to do with the mayor's change. He'd hate to see the young sheriff get hurt, and, for the sake of his career, Regina too.

* * *

"I actually am busy, you know?"

"Yes, I can see that. An awfully rare happenstance bordering on the supernatural."

Emma hadn't read two lines of the report before it was being pushed, centimeter by agonizing centimeter, away from her viewing pleasure. With a growl she slapped her hand to the file and slid it back to its proper place. Not a minute later a clattering of pens and pencils sprung Emma from her work. Her glare met a curious finger shuffling around through the various items on her desk: a pencil holder, paper clips, post-it notes, and the cord of a phone.

"Don't you have better things to do than distract me?"

"What can be more important?"

"I don't know," Emma replied, waving her pen lazily before retreating into paperwork. "How about running a town?"

Regina sighed and took up the kicking of a computer mouse like it was a soccer ball between her fingers. Suddenly the item was wrested from her by a very irate sheriff. The mouse flew out of her reach with a smack to the desk that made the mayor jump. Still elegantly perched on the desk, Regina folded her mutinous hands in her lap. Her pout did not portray an inch of subtlety.

"Are you angry?" she asked, softer than necessary.

Emma felt the iron chains draped over her shoulders. Maybe it was time to shrug them off and apply them elsewhere once again. The thought made her sigh. She placed down her pen, covered her face with the palm of her hand and replied, "No, I'm not angry. I'm just tired."

"You know that I hope it is through no fault of mine."

"Yes," Emma said.

She peeked through her fingers in time to witness the contemplation blooming across the mayor's face. Green eyes slipped down, her pupils expanding. She liked how Regina tugged at her bottom lip; it was a relieving tip-off that the woman actually thought before a word or action sparked World War III.

No sooner had that relief took hold before she realized Regina had come to kneel at her feet. Her hands were placed on jean thighs, thumbs wandering patiently, and chin dipped in supplication.

"This is how you like me."

It occurred to Emma she had not been asked. Those past few days Regina had come to know exactly how Emma liked her. And how sweet it was for Emma's needs not only to have been taken notice of but satisfied to her heart's content.

Eyes still darting over a seemingly emotionless face, searching for approval, Regina took each boot and slid them off. Every click of the boot's zipper felt like an eternity which was then smoothed over with a gliding palm. The calf muscles jumped under her caress. She then cupped her hand around Emma's neck and at an achingly slow pace drew the lips down to hers. Regina watched the eyes slip closed, the mouth open fully to hers, and drink what was offered. The neck muscles released their tension under her fingers. With a touch like balm, she followed wherever the tightness migrated, smiling into Emma's mouth and knowing exactly where the source lied.

All of Emma's attention flew from her work as if it never existed in the first place. She poured her every focus into the kiss until she heard the tell-tale sound of a jean zipper being undone. Each click of metallic teeth supported the methodical leisure with which it was carried out. Emma breathed out impatiently as the pert, delirious lips receded. Dazed, she watched them go, tracking their next destination like her life depended on it. Time seemed to stand still – or had it just skipped ahead of her? In all the while she was thinking of Regina and the things she'd asked of her over the course of their new relationship, every stich of clothing from waist down had been divested and replaced with a hot, velvet tongue.

The relieved moan sung like magic to Regina. It told her how right she had been to disrupt Emma's morning. It spoke of how the needs of one rivaled that of the other. This distraction, lavished by a succulent mouth, was not only acceptable but expected.

Regina added to the breathy song by wetting her lips and sliding them over Emma's center. Her tongue replaced and skidded up, across, and around in patterns that sent hips delirious. She traced dizzying trails around a hard clit, running her tongue down through more wetness and returning to the bundle of nerves with more heat. When it all became too much for them Regina dipped her tongue, shallow at first as though to notify Emma of her company before slipping into depths wet and throbbing.

As if the long, aching groan of her name wasn't enough, Regina felt an iron grip on her shoulders grasping and convulsing around her grey suit jacket to supply her confidence. Not that she needed the assurance. Her efforts could have been conveyed with more intensity when bereft of one such helping hand or exclamation. The only requirement came in the form of a smooth, divine face. The stamina in Regina could be shaken by soulful lips and the kind of utter beauty captured in portraits and sculpted from alabaster. For Emma's grace was not common but her own – annoyingly liberated and experienced beyond her years though unforsaken of youthful wit.

She looked upon this face as she lavished with tongue and ravenous moans. Despite the cold, hard floor against her knees she endured. The sting, it could be said, kept her going. Regina kept on her knees not because she had to be there but because she wanted to be. If only Emma knew how painful it was to want this.

The armrests caved under the grasping pressure of Emma's hands. Nails clawed it to shreds as teeth gripped the base of her clit and a sharp lashing from a tongue finished her off. Searing pleasure and tender pain cascaded over her in waves. She grit her teeth in a silent scream before sinking slowly back into the chair. The waves receded, leaving the black void of her insides just as desolate.

Regina settled herself in the despondent lap, thighs straddling the still trembling ones below. She looked on hazy green eyes as she grazed her palms up Emma's arms until blushed cheeks were hers.

Emma didn't pull away from the damp palms. They encased her face like an iron prison without windows. Nor did she meet the ever watchful gaze. Regina's eyes must have been dark, delicious, and agreeable to any whim requested by her sheriff. What more could Emma ask for? What was so wrong with this new lease on absolute gratification?

"Kiss me," Emma said.

Regina obeyed. She kissed and combed back strands by the pads of her fingers. When compelled by urgent hands to her back, her mouth pressed harder, her breasts connecting with the rounded swell of Emma's. They came apart for breath only to close in again to taste eager mouths.

Finding ample reason in the kiss, Regina's hand dropped from the smooth skin of a cheek to a vital desire between spread thighs. She would always find her place there, amid truth and consequences – there where Emma's weakness streamed through her fingers. It felt much like home or a place alike to haven; to live there, thrive and thrill if only for a few minutes. But to be granted access was an achievement in itself for Emma guarded her truths like a pacing hound. That it could be taken away at any second, that Emma could just as easily rescind permission awoke an old pastime in Regina.

Lately she had found herself on a tipping point between banishment and granting endless pleasure. Like Atlas shrugging the balance of Earth, Regina's pain claimed her efforts to keep equilibrium. One toe out of place and it all fell apart and she'd be left with nothing. Striving to keep this balance weighed heavy upon Regina, yet she scrambled as madness would to collect the dregs of bliss from this suffering. There was a fine line between comfort and misery through the intensity which they are pursued. After all, a mother tried so hard to obtain the affections of her son and received only contempt for her efforts. And to hate someone so thoroughly, so blindingly that it stirred her heart anew. How ironic these absolutes. How very misleading.

"It brings me to pieces," Regina admitted, working her fingers through Emma, "to see you unhappy."

Like pulling a nose towards the indefinite 'X' on a map, Emma directed her hand to cover the ministrations of Regina's own. This alone was response enough to see herself happy again.

Regina kissed her way along a jaw. It was bestowed with such tenderness it raised the hairs on Emma's skin. When teeth nipped at her earlobe she shivered. When the gentle force of fingers curled and scissored inside her she threw herself into a heavenly arch.

Blood rose to the surface of cheeks overcome with kisses. Regina's breath scorched across the heavily kissed mouth. Bucking into the hand pressing hers to the heat of a wanting core, Regina offered every last scrap of power at her disposal – save for one.

"Oh," she purred, "so tight and wet." She could feel walls clamping desperately hard around her. Emma was impossibly close and exquisitely awe inspiring. She looked so beautiful to Regina like this all she could do was stare in wonder. Her tongue snaked out to flick against Emma's parted, gasping lips. "Won't you come for me, my brave sheriff?"

Emma came, easily. Hands knotted themselves in the mayor's clothes, nearly shredding them in wake of her chaotic orgasm. She could have plummeted to her knees if the chair hadn't caught her first. A fall like that would have had disastrous consequences, considering the height at which she had been taken.

" _Shit_."

Regina chuckled. "I take it you approve?"

The nod she received was then traded by a delighted, if not exhausted, smile.

"I cannot say it was insufficient for me." Leaning back to catch the full extent of Emma's satisfaction, Regina said, "But I wouldn't dream of putting my needs before yours."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't have said that a few weeks ago. What's changed?" She swallowed hard, not sure if she really wanted to know.

Regina stayed silent a while. "I realized what I had and decided not to squander it."

"You decided. Just like that?"

"Mm," the tips of Regina's fingers sketched a troubled forehead and curved around a cheek, "it was a slow burn realization."

"Right."

"You don't approve?"

The overused phrase had not been lost on Emma. "I… don't know," she stammered.

"Well, what _do_ you know?"

Regina's lips luxuriated over her. Emma turned away just as they coursed down her neck. The overlapping kisses were not a reassurance. Instead, they excited the depths of her power. It should please Emma. This Regina should overwhelm her senses beyond all comprehension. The shocking thing about it was how successful it played out. The power _did_ please her. And Regina was stoking something inside her that couldn't quite be snuffed. Emma, who had shied away from gestures of affection and who was too modest to take on heroic titles, felt as if she was being reborn. She was being cast from sturdier stuff, transformed like a phoenix into someone capable of much greater dominion. And not just as sheriff, but as woman.

"I know you can't harm me anymore," Emma said, rising and taking the slim waist. "You've given something up you wouldn't have parted with before." Their eyes held unflinching on each other as she steered Regina back until they met resistance. "I don't know why and I honestly don't care." Emma's nails dug in hard before ripping down the elegant gray trousers, the suddenness of the move catching Regina's breath. "You're asking me what I know…"

Regina's head fell back against the window blinds with thump. She heard the slap of her wet underwear falling to the floor. The sudden rush of air hit her core and she choked against the shriek crawling up her throat. Emma hadn't even laid hands on her. Of all the sheriff's skills, Regina wouldn't have guessed. Her eyes nearly rolled to the back of her head at the anticipation of having Emma inside her.

"I know, Madame Mayor, that I want this."

The cry that had been fueling in restraint finally freed itself as Emma's thigh came to press into Regina. In a manner wholly unknown to the mayor she began to thrash madly against the force. She couldn't know why but it seemed as if Emma hadn't been this near to her in ages.

"You don't have to be anywhere, do you?" Emma asked against breathless lips. "Like a meeting or something? Not that I care."

Regina's mouth fell open at the new onslaught of thrusts. She shook her head, bereft of speech, and continued her wanton squirms.

Chuckling lips fluttered against a rapid pulse point. "Are you positive?"

Regina moaned sharply, hips climbing up Emma's thigh with every push. Despite how desecrating it might look to her image as all-powerful mayor of Storybrooke, she curled her leg around Emma's waist for added leverage.

"I'll take that as a hell yeah."

"You enjoy mocking me," Regina said, her spiteful tone shaken.

"Maybe a little." Emma's lips quirked into an unapologetic smirk. "Or a lot."

What she got was not the expected slap in the face or barbed threat – either of those Emma fully expected and could have handled like the professional 'Mayor Wrangler' she was. But no. Instead she received a breathy whimper which became muffled against Emma's lips. It was as violent as it was suffocating. At that point, she couldn't quite tell if Regina was in pain or unimaginable pleasure, offended or quite shockingly grateful.

It sometimes troubled Emma, this transformation. She worried she was losing herself. The supply of desire they sought in each other seemed bottomless. But if she kept taking, what would be left of Regina? Of herself? Even if she could put an end to this wanton game, Emma feared she wouldn't. Things had changed so drastically between them; ever since she showed up drunk that night and Regina sealed them inside her office. After that night they came to an understanding, one which still turned over in Emma's mind. She searched for the small black print, the loophole that would cause her immeasurable disgrace, anything that would explain Regina's cordiality. It was uncharacteristic and a bit disconcerting, but nothing that left Emma at the wrong end of a scandal. There was no reason to seek a solution when no problem existed.

So nothing remained for Emma to do but take the gift so willingly given. Regina offered herself frequently, spontaneously, and in the most unusual places (the conference room just minutes after closing remarks, a late night park bench, and not only the Mercedes but the junk on wheels that was Emma's car of all locales). At first, she agreed out of sheer curiosity. Then, when the encounters continued innocently enough, she accepted greedily.

The shame of friends hearing of her appetite and the fear that she'd lose her job because she had been so unapologetically screwing her boss had dwindled to such a minuscule issue that it extinguished entirely. She could pull the screams and writhes without a care in the world for whose feathers they ruffled. Damn all consequences. Damn the delicate sensibilities of those that would gasp and point their hypocritical fingers. Emma wanted Regina from the beginning, even before their meeting in the forest. Now she had her, body and soul, controlling every aspect of the woman's pleasure. It was a kind of drug more potent than the world's deadliest pill or powder.

Emma kissed and sucked and tasted at the mayor's collarbone. The touches sent delightful shivers through Regina's body and contended with the blazing heat applied by the offered thigh. Emma asserted herself according to the muffled appraisals, surging relentlessly against the arousal coating her leg. Her hands plucked up the silk white blouse and crawled up the sides of a keening torso. Reveling in the crook of Regina's neck, she drew nails down her back, leaving angry red stripes through sweat.

Emma's eyes blinked open to the pained groan and stared unbelieving at her willingness to mar Regina's skin without a thought. She had gotten carried away, but apparently that was okay by Regina. Actually, it just might be well within her rights to do so. Inspired by this new lease on discipline, Emma bit hard into Regina's shoulder and dragged her fingers down that same track, earning another choking gasp. Yes, this was acceptable, it said.

Drunk on newfound power Emma imagined all the ways to sate this twisted desire. It came in flashes, the mired taboos and cravings, the kind of fantasies inconceivable to virgin eyes. All at once, from the woeful moans to the prospect of licentious acts, she nearly came undone. The fire she lit in Regina had grown so intense Emma caught flame and fervor. She refused to let up, unconcerned with the blinds crinkling under their rough little tête-à-tête.

"Do you want to stop?" she asked.

From between the blinds Regina saw the few pedestrians walking her streets. Like any other day they were going about their usual route, oblivious to the business being exchanged between their mayor and sheriff. All they had to do was glance up at the window. Humiliation. Disgust. Gossip. It would end her. It would end Emma. Like any politician her behavior reaped consequences. But unlike the typical civil servant Regina cared little for public image. At the moment, humiliation, disgust, and gossip provoked an intoxicating feeling. She felt it like tiny sparks crackling across her skin. The threat of castigation from the very people that elected her was a chilling threat, but the grounds for it… writhing in sin with Emma, it only succeeded in exciting her. She almost welcomed the stones that would surely be cast at hers and Emma's debauchery. She shook in ecstasy at the image of being bound to a stake and feeling the flames lick at their naked skin. To be burned with Emma, Regina presumed, might be comparable to the branding Emma gave her in the heat of lovemaking.

To answer Emma's question with a negative would be a peculiarity and an absurdity. It just happened that Regina was in a peculiar mood and estranged from all good and moral sense.

"No," Regina pleaded with half-closed eyes. "No, I don't want to stop." And her arms wound around Emma's shoulders, embracing, pulling, and asking 'please' without ever having to utter a syllable.

The appeal was granted as Emma saw fit. Her mouth set down, tongue slipping through sighs before pressing her thigh hard enough to send Regina over into thunderous spasms. They jerked, wrenched, and blared against the blinds, magnifying the threat of exposure. Emma never once asked herself who would be observing. She could care less what went on outside. Hell itself could crack open and suck the whole of Storybrooke in, but Emma wouldn't give a damn. Civil unrest might spread through the streets and she was pretty sure the mayor hardly cared to bat an eye. Not when she was so amply covering the sheriff's thigh in her current rapture.

"Emma," Regina exhaled, settling gently down from her euphoria.

She covered the neck before her in aimless kisses. Exhausted beyond grasp, she sagged into able arms. Her chest ached against the violent rhythms of her heart. Somehow, amid course lovemaking and its culmination in bliss, she found peace.

Emma heard her name repeated in supplication. Never had she likened it to a prayer, but coming from those swollen, sweet lips it sounded like heaven. She nuzzled against a glowing cheek and rasped firmly against it, "Clean it up."

A shiver trickled up her spine. Spent and dazed, Regina dropped at once to her knees. She took hold of the leg presented, winding her fingers around lean muscle, possessing and worshiping it like a limb of a goddess. The offering captivated her innocence. How could something as simple and plain as a leg be so lovely? Regina couldn't answer any more than she could refuse Emma's command.

Obedience in no short supply, she gave a loving nip to the kneecap before applying her mouth fully. Soft sighs mixed with Emma's as she ran her tongue along the strip of arousal. It peaked her curiosity to hear the repeated gripes from the sheriff on cleanliness. She never took Emma for an outright prude, not in the forest when her precious leather had been tarnished with tree sap, nor the many times she delivered services on a desk, chair, and every other surface of the sheriff's office. Those times, to Regina's bother, always ended in a demand to put things back where she found them. No, Propriety thy name was _not_ Emma Swan. The truth of the matter, Regina concluded wryly, was that Emma found a home in declaring herself over the mayor.

Regina bathed her tongue to the slick skin as a cat would lap at milk. Muscles quivered under her fingers and goose bumps spread wherever she touched. The skin was soft like porcelain. Her own heady scent mingled with Emma's preference of shea butter soap and she covered it in moans. It was a heavenly recipe she'd gladly taste on her lips again. She ran her tongue up the femoral artery, lapping and cleaning as directed until her head was buried between Emma's thighs.

"No more, Regina." Emma's hand came down to shove at the hair-tousled head. "We're done." She drew her jeans back up and put on her boots. Returning shakily to her desk, Emma lowered herself into the chair, propped her elbow on the armrest, and let her head fall to her hand. "I have to get back to work," she sighed. Despite her responsibilities she was drained of the ability to raise a mere finger. Her eyes fell closed and she took a moment to collect herself.

Regina's eyebrows knit together. "Of course." She laid her rosy face in Emma's lap and breathed for a while. "I would like it if you came over tomorrow night."

Emma's stare ahead was indistinct yet unflinching. Her fingers pet through the woman's hair, vaguely detached. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Regina sighed into a knee, denim brushing lips like sandpaper balm.

As if programmed to, the green-eyed stare persisted as did the hand's stroking. Emma remained frozen under the weight, yet it warmed her to think she could cast it off with little effort. "Okay," she said.


	8. What Lies Beneath

Chapter Eight: What Lies Beneath

One day saw the sheriff and her deputy in an awkward state of affairs. Capping up the last hot morning of the summer, they took the opportunity to escape the stuffy confines of the station for the diner. Breathing fresh air at last, they spread their work out in one of the corner booths at Granny's.

Tension blossomed as soon as David set about his priorities. He began with the patrolling schedule they had been battling over to no end. David wanted early hours so he could continue volunteering at the pet shelter in the afternoons and help with the after-school educational program 'Kids and Canines.' Emma sought equal monopoly on morning patrols. Her reasoning remained undisclosed and as sheriff she did not have to explain herself. Despite David's crafty solutions the stubborn deadlock persisted.

From there, department related inquiries peppered Emma like machine gun fire. What were his specified responsibilities? In case of emergencies what should be done if the sheriff was unreachable? Should he ring her personal line? Relatedly, were cats in trees labeled an emergency? If so, did that require the assistance of the fire department _and_ an ambulance? Speaking of, shouldn't a proposal be made to City Council on budgeting out an animal ambulatory service? Flight For Furry Life?

By then Emma's third and last pencil had snapped in half, driving her to demand the very pen Ruby was using to scribe their lunch order.

"Um, I guess," the waitress said, handing over the pen and sparing a quizzical look to David. "Would you like anything else?" she asked, a bit miffed. "Food wise."

"Coffee."

"Yes, _ma'am_. Anything for you, deputy?"

"I'm fine, thanks." He scratched the back of his neck, supplying the young woman with an apologetic smile.

Ruby nodded once and stalked away with more questions than answers.

After being harangued for the last half hour Emma stewed in uncooperative silence. A permanent scowl decorated her face.

"You doing okay, Emma?" David dipped his head to catch her eye. He kept a fair distance ever since the steely wall rose, but his concern only grew. "You've seemed a bit tense the last week or so."

She grunted vaguely and kept about her work with a serious frown.

"Is… everything all right at home?" he asked, tentatively.

"That's not really any of your business, is it? Unless you're committing adultery and sleeping with my roommate… then you must know the whole story, huh?"

David's eyes blinked wide. He recoiled, visibly battered by the tone.

"Don't act so shocked. You two are about as quiet as newlyweds."

"Emma –"

"I'm not going to rat you out," she interjected, flashing a dangerous set of eyes. "Though your _wife_ probably deserves better."

"Why are you being this way? What happened, Emma?"

"I'd rather not talk about personal stuff when we're on the clock."

Like a kicked dog to the curb David bowed his head in submission. His eyes roved over the papers in front of them and he sighed. "Well, do you want to help me out with the police reports? I think I got the hang of classifying in order of priority – the seriousness of the crime, a perp's history, etcetera. But I'd feel more comfortable with your guidance."

"I'm not going to hold your hand, David," Emma snapped. "You're a big boy. Figure it out."

"I just thought," he stammered, "with the mayor giving you a second chance and all…"

"Yeah? Tell me something I don't know."

"Well, I assumed you might not want to risk losing it again – your job, I mean. Mayor Mills has high standards for every one of her employees. I know because I was sheriff –"

"For all of five minutes."

David wet his lips and pressed harder. "But I understand the patience and integrity it demands. I'm sorry if you feel like I'm lecturing you. It's not my intention, really. You're a good sheriff, Emma. Everyone knows it. If anyone needs lecturing it's me. I just want to…" he looked down but the rush of blood to his face couldn't be concealed, "Well, I want to make you proud." He saw his boss roll his eyes and begin to mutter a retort. "I want to help in the best possible way. If I'm going to be your deputy I need to know the ropes. And I'd rather not screw up your second chance in the process."

"It doesn't matter!" barked Emma. Her eyebrows knit, sulkily, as she caught a few startled customers in her crosshairs. She crossed her arms as if to defend against a war.

"What doesn't matter?"

"All of this! None of it! Who cares? It's just a damn job."

"If it's just a damn job then why did you work so hard to get it back?" He spotted the flicker of surprise across green eyes and nodded. "Yeah, Mary Margaret told me. You were killing yourself over it for days, trying to impress the mayor and dressing in overpriced suits and spending hours doing whatever girls do in the bathroom before an important date."

Emma scowled. "I was not! And don't say _date_ like it was something of the casual sort. You don't know what I had to go through in those interviews."

"You think she hired me on good looks alone?" David pointed out with a stiff chuckle. "I had to go through the same process."

"Doubt it."

"It's that stubborn attitude that's going to get you in trouble again. You need me, Emma, to keep you in line, if anything."

"I don't need you to fucking babysit me, David. I need you to be my deputy. That's it. No questions asked."

"I don't know what's going on with you, lately, but whatever it is I hope you sort it out. You have a son to look after and he looks up to you. There's a town full of people here who are in the hands of two powerful women – the mayor and the sheriff. We all depend on you, so, no, it is not _just_ a job. As sheriff you have a responsibility and an authority none of us have. I suggest you use your power wisely. I'm saying this as a friend, not as your deputy."

The crinkles around her eyes showed how much effort was being put into forcing her attention elsewhere. "Thanks for the pep talk," Emma said, her working jaw showing how grateful the news was received. She slid out of the booth, leaving behind her paperwork and her deputy in heavy silence.

After Emma stormed out Ruby took it as the all clear to approach. She set the mug of coffee and asked David, "Guess the sheriff won't be needing her cup of joe."

"No," David mumbled, sullenly. He stared vaguely down at his nail scratching into the table. "No, I dare say she needs something stronger."

* * *

Sparks and crackles set off in the brick hearth. Its sooty, blackened interior proved how much use it provided the owner. The heavy smoke particles could have been cleaned, of course, but its presence just added character. This particular fireplace had endured countless winters as well as the warmer seasons, too. The licking flames brought a similar cozy feeling in the damp heat of summer just as it did in cooler times. Staring transfixed by the amber and rust colored flames, one's anxieties could easily be diminished and find themselves transported to simpler times.

It was there in her study, blood orange light bathing her face and bouncing off her glass like sunshine, where Regina waited to receive her very special guest.

The inky blue-violet contents of her stemware swirled. A lovely Malbec she paired with supper earlier. According to the seller, whom Regina took for a pseudo-connoisseur in an understated tie, this particular Argentinian grape consisted of dark, plump flavors of blackberry, plum, and cocoa, and aged for a sweet tobacco finish. He also made the unabashed recommendation to prepare lean meats and rustic flavors with the wine – if she so wished to purchase a bottle.

The vendor had not been tipped for his advice, but Regina did find herself coming home with two bottles. She also made a point to reach for that sirloin tip from the back of her fridge and make use of those mushrooms too. The end result nearly had her speeding back to the store and laying a smack on both his cheeks. It tasted as divine as Emma. Very nearly so.

The rest of the second bottle waited, like Regina, just as eager for the guest of honor. She intended to let Emma judge for herself if the sweet finish could rate as her possible equal. She wanted the woman's take on the robust flavor almost as much as she longed to watch something exquisite pass her lips.

Regina took a small, restrained sip and reclined, head slumped back as her tongue rolled and lips puckered. Oh, how she wanted to watch it go down. Those huffy pink lips would look so good smacking to taste as they had at Regina's aching, wet center. It was a fantasy too stubborn to leave the mayor's mind that evening. And sitting in her cozy place next to the flames of the hearth just intensified that need.

A soft moan suffused within the room. It went unnoticed even to its owner.

Regina always predicted the sheriff to be an inadequate lover, even following the forest altercation. She never thought about it a whole lot, but the issue could not be ignored any longer. Since bedding Emma she took notice: the long, dexterous fingers; slight moans over hot cocoa; the way her back arched out of her chair into a stretch. Regina would surrender to say she had made a habit quite some time ago of spying on the sheriff from the opposite end of the diner and wondering over coffee what the sex would be like with her son's birth mother. The rest had been one of those passing notions everyone tossed around in their heads. They lasted just fractions of a second… love, marriage, family. They never meant anything and they passed on as forgotten as a penny down the drain.

But the sex never went as quietly from her mind. It persisted more frequently after consummation. In the midst of her seduction she would separate herself from her own needs and study Emma. Looking at Emma from across a restaurant and thinking about sex was one thing, but looking at her during the actual act had been a completely different experience. Regina started noticing things: the little sounds she made, the line between her brows and cute little pout when her fingers felt wonderfully trapped in wet heat, the "oh gods" spurred not from her own orgasm but from the simple fact that she actually managed to get an absurdly hot woman to scream her name.

Regina found herself paying more attention to Emma during these trysts, focusing on her pleasure rather than her own and attempting to bring about some new expression from her face (because Emma was nothing if not expressive in that frustratingly arousing way, whether Regina wanted to punch it or shove it between her legs). It was a fun game, all in all. Sometimes she took it to such lengths that a pillow was required to muffle the laughter because 'fun' never felt so god damn good. Leave it to Emma Swan to make her lover chortle in bed.

Sometimes their roles were reversed: Emma watching from below as Regina came down on those clever fingers. She could close her eyes and lose herself in the rough strokes with the knowledge that Emma observed as she had done before. The idea of her being watched like that with altering notions and startling fantasies sent a quivering rush through her body more intense than orgasm. Sometimes – and this really had her biting her lip in amusement – sometimes she would play out a series of sex-crazed sounds that had green eyes exploding to the size of saucers. Later, for some inexplicable reason, Regina would feel a sting of shame. There was nothing proper in what she inflicted on Emma much less what they were doing with each other. Essentially, she was putting on a show for the poor, unsuspecting sheriff and using her body to do it.

When had she become so shallow? Easy: when that woman barged into town and acted contrary to every little thing the mayor asked of her. When did she start using her sexuality instead of her wits to ensnare her prey? Well, that was a moot question; since as far back as she could remember being queen. And when in the ever loving hell did the sheriff become the _poor_ sheriff? Regina had grown soft in her old age. That had to explain it for there could be no other sound reason. Or it could just be that Regina was so shamed by her behavior, so disgusted that she pitied herself and felt beholden to Emma as a result. Beholden, of course, to provide her true passion and pleasure.

Another taste of wine slipped past her lips. She felt insatiably parched all of a sudden.

Sating Emma's desires had been a simple thing, but what of her own? In the past, she had put herself through the motions with eyes shut and mouth pursed like the act was a chore. And always with a head turned away as if she should be thinking of someone else. Later, Regina found that she came quicker and much, much harder when her eyes were open and focused. Emma became a worthy site for sore eyes with her crinkling brow and burnt cheeks. She moved like no one else and responded to Regina's everything in a manner all her own. The uniqueness of the deed and the person sharing in it threw her off her game. It arched her back, beads of sweat rolling off, and had her screaming some stupid name to the heavens. Emma turned her inside out. Such a rare, puzzling effect all occurred – only occurred – when her eyes fiercely latched onto Emma's. She would never admit it. Never, not to anyone with a pulse. The thing about 'never' was that it worked both ways. Regina may never confess, but those orgasms experienced with Emma never lied.

The fire had since died down from a fierce roar to a meager spitting of embers. Emma was late and dusk had begun to close in like a rolling storm. Regina bit down on the wine red of her bottom lip. The dull sting was nothing compared to the aching need to be in Emma's arms again. And that scared her more than darkness.

* * *

"Mind if I turn a light? I can't see a thing."

Emma squinted through the heavy shadows to make out the vague outline. She took the waving hand as permission and patted the wall to flick the switch. The study was instantly bathed in soft gold light. It gave the opportunity for Emma to finally take in her hostess.

Regina was looking fine in a soft purple strapless dress that flared loosely down to her kneecaps. Her prominent bodice was shaped by wrapped panels. A slim belt cinched around her waist, accentuating her figure. Emma would hazard a guess that the material was silk chiffon, a weakness that got her hands buzzing to reach out and finger to her heart's content. Emma licked her lips in spite of her being watched as well. The lavender on harsh Madame Mayor stirred the butterflies in Emma's stomach. She looked so soft and friendly it was alarming. The design itself had its origins in practicality. It was the ideal summer dress, but Emma had to wonder if there were certain motivations for wearing this particular dress in the company of her guest.

"You look beautiful," she said clumsily, feeling the sentiment had been revealed some time after the fact. "You didn't have to dress up for me."

"I thought you might appreciate something you didn't have to wear your thumbs over to take off."

"That's awfully considerate."

"And I'd rather not have a repeat of yesterday…"

"Oh, right. Sorry."

"Not at all, dear. The mechanics of this one should not boggle your strategy. Unless you have my expressed consent you will not be fouling a stich tonight."

"Understood."

Emma bowed her head once, mouth twisting uncertainly. It was moments like this that made 'awkward' a constant guest between them. The dialogue carried across as formal, which always made it seem to Emma like those subscription questionnaires where you signed away your life for a monthly library newsletter. It was the silence between the chit chat and the objective that kicked awkward up to a whole new notch. It was the before and after that felt stilted like unfinished lasagna – it tasted so fucking good but what to do with the rest? One couldn't gorge themselves silly. One needed a proper time and place to resume feasting.

"Care for a drink?" asked Regina, brightened by a cordial smile. "Something to lubricate your tongue, perhaps?"

When she turned towards the kitchen it wasn't the twirl of a dress that set a heart to quicken, but her naked shoulder blades on display for Emma's viewing pleasure. Emma blinked over the glowing flesh and taught muscle. She moistened her lips and trailed after like a predatory in for its long sought meal.

These occasions never failed to frazzle her nerves. Even after a summer of Regina they refused to listen, much in favor of ricocheting like protons in a Hadron Collider. Emma hadn't yet found a solution to her awkward stuttering and soaking wet palms, but once those brown eyes flashed their vulnerability – even for a second – Emma pounced like a woman untamed.

Until then a little liquid courage would have to suffice.

With a smile Emma took the proffered drink by its stem. She twirled the glass once, squinted at the color, and dipped her nose in for a sniff. She then shrugged, like _What the hell? It's just gonna taste like grapes anyway._ Emma took an obscene mouthful of the wine and gulped it immediately.

"Not bad."

"It is meant to be savored, Miss Swan, not slugged in the manner of an Irish whiskey-bibber."

"I'm not Irish."

"Nor civilized."

"What do you want me to say?" Emma asked. She followed her hand is it gave an exaggerated flourish. "It tastes like the nectar of the gods! I feel so transported I can just _feel_ the toil of Argentinian serfs!"

Regina's eyes widened a touch, taken aback by the lucky guess. "How do you know it's Argentinian?"

"I can read from here, Regina." Emma indicated to the wine bottle and its label and tipped back the last of the glass's contents. This time she let it swirl in her mouth and tingle her taste buds before swallowing.

"Well," Regina stammered to gain the upper hand, "Argentina is the fifth largest producer of wine. They don't need slaves to cultivate the grapes."

"That I did _not_ read on the label."

"Yes, well, not everything is that obvious. Sometimes one has to put their nose to the grindstone in order to mine important detail. If one wishes," she conceded with a dip of her head. "If we all had our personal facts and figures plastered to our foreheads the world would be a frightfully idle place."

"Are we still talking about wine?"

"You believe there is a difference?"

Emma's features scrunched, genuinely. "I haven't exactly thought about it."

"Wine develops much like people do. A grape's character depends on its environment as well as the genetic diversity of its vine. The conditions of climate, the composition of minerals in the soil, and the amount of time it spends in barrels all have a hand in its cultivation…"

Brown eyes shimmering an amber hue, Regina waved her hand to and fro in sequence with her points as if lecturing to a grand stadium of graduate students. This appeared to be something the mayor had a genuine interest in, so Emma gave her the floor with a patient ear.

"… It is the complex grape that fascinates me. It ripens through torment and time, gaining a dynamism you otherwise cannot find on the coddled vine. And then there are the grapes simply too stubborn too mature."

"I guess you're right," Emma remarked. "People are a bit like wine. Though I wouldn't classify myself in terms of dense, dark, and acidic. I'm more than what my climate makes me."

"Spoken like a stubborn grape," Regina said, drolly. A curious notion then struck with a cocked head. She refilled Emma's wine glass before saying, "You do know more about wine then you let on."

"You could say it was an element of my previous job. One I never paid much attention to. At the end of the night my safety and income depended on my soberness to bring in the perp."

"Bounty hunting is a dangerous line of work, is it?" The anxiety clouding the mayor's features took precedence over the sardonic shot.

"Nothing a stubborn grape can't handle," Emma replied with a lopsided grin. "And let me guess, you're the dark and mysterious got-to-look-past-my-surface-beauty-to-get-to-know-me kind of grape."

Smoldering eyes narrowed. The naked curve of Regina's shoulder went up. "I am a mere Cabernet Sauvignon."

"Yeah?" Emma couldn't hear her herself over the blood pumping in her ears. Before she knew it Regina had led her out of the kitchen and was dragging her by the hand. With each stair climbed her heart pumped an extra beat to the swinging hips. "Cabernet Sauvignon, huh?" she reiterated when they reached the bedroom.

"Independent, driven, and holds high standards."

"Oh," Emma sighed a little breathily. "How can a stubborn grape like me exceed the expectations of fine wine like you?"

If Emma had been in her right mind she would have shot herself with her own gun for how corny it sounded. She normally wasn't a poet or a hit with romantic one-liners, but she could certainly hold her own in the bedroom. And that seemed to be all that Regina cared about at the moment.

The corner of a mouth twitched, verifying that Regina had not overlooked the remark. "The life of a fine wine is not easy. It must constantly live up to the palate." Brown eyes dropped to the wine stained lips. "A mouth can be awfully merciless in its pursuit for satisfaction."

Hands planted firmly on slim hips, Emma nearly moaned at how soft the silk material felt between her fingers. She matched the stare by dropping her gaze down to a pretty, mayoral mouth. "I'll be good."

"No." Regina's hand splayed out on the olive button down and slithered up until the collar was clutched flimsily in her grasp. The hands at her waist drew her in and she responded by looping an arm around Emma's neck. Steamy intent sheathed her darkened pupils as they flicked from Emma's eyes to her lips. "No. You won't."

Their tongues mingled hotly before mouths even touched. They opened wide to each other's desperation. Regina's kiss was sensual, begging for its equal. Emma met her sensuousness and then some.

They grappled and clutched as long as their lips endured the extensive kiss. Emma's tongue strove deep for more while Regina whined softly back. Emma's thoughts swirled like missing puzzle pieces to a much bigger picture. She felt hazy and a bit vulnerable in the moment despite the power her lips and tongue had over the other woman. Emma wasn't exactly drunk, but the tang of Malbec she licked from Regina's mouth intoxicated her. Without the added flavor à la Madame Mayor a grape was just a grape, after all.

Careful not to rip a stich (as contracted) Emma used nimble fingers in drawing the zipper down on the lovely dress. When they parted lavender silk chiffon fell away easily, leaving behind its radiant owner. Blown away by the image as if for the very first time, Emma slammed her mouth into that of a waiting one. She scrapped desperately over bare skin, clawing and pawing the beautifully toned and taught flesh like there still remained clothes to be torn.

Once they were naked Emma tossed her to the bed like rag doll. Regina but smiled good-naturedly. The sparkle in her eyes showed how favorable she was to being handled this way. A hastened lurch to her chest could not deter Emma from following through.

Climbing into bed, Emma's hands ran hastily from ankles on up. When she got to the slim waist her fingers dug in hard and sled Regina down the bed. Kneeling and nestled perfectly between spread thighs, Emma looked down on her target. She must have looked like a monolith of authority above Regina, capable of doing and saying anything that pleased her. She could treat the mayor as she saw fit and, _god_ , did that power feel good. It was like an electric shock to her system, energizing her soul and lifting her confidence as high as it had ever gone. No fear of being stopped, no fear of getting terminated from her job again stood in her way. Nothing stood in her way when Regina's eyes said _please, please, please._

Emma brought Regina up by the neck and brought her mouth hard to hers. The unrelenting kiss verified in the way her lips sealed around Regina's and sucked the life and breath from her. While Regina groaned and rocked against her Emma grabbed the thighs that braced shakily against her own and kneaded them just as crudely. It brought her satisfaction to feel all ten fingertips pressing to her back with urgency. Greater joy came when she began sucking on the tender skin of a neckline, the sudden marking causing the nails to claw and scramble over her back. Emma hissed in pleasure over the maimed crook of Regina's neck. She continued her assault, nipping, laving, and pulling from shoulder to clavicle. Expressed moans came in time with each harmful branding that would surely see the light of morning.

Just when Regina's hips began straining for contact she was released to fall back against the bed. A chill swept through her panting figure at the pair of eyes staring down. The blazing evergreen scorched her very flesh. She felt touched by Emma when no hand had been laid upon her. It felt like magic, untamed and white hot across her skin and invading her soul as an unexpected but very much anticipated guest. Once Emma set those unforgiving eyes on her gleaming wet sex Regina felt ravished already and opened her mouth in a loud groan.

Emma covered the sound with her mouth. She covered Regina's entire existence with her own body. Their overheated skin thrummed in sync, chaffing against one another to bring about a higher pleasure. They rocked and moaned together instantaneously as if a fire had ignited between them. And it would not be quelled.

At the height of their passion when lips kissed raw and the low, deep burn of their cores shook for release, Regina pulled away. Remorse would take over if her expectation for the night took no priority over short-term pleasures. Turning onto her stomach she reached for the bedside drawer, pulled it open, and dived in. Regina's fingers just barely grazed the leather pommel when her wrist was stayed.

"Not tonight."

"But –" The tightened grip on her wrist silenced her and she withdrew with empty hands. "As you wish."

But Emma hadn't climbed off. She didn't allow Regina to rise from her prostrate position when the neck looked so inviting. Its curve stretched out for Emma, tempting the low rumble in her chest to discharge. She dove down and mouthed at the area. Without warning her teeth bore into the flesh nearest the shoulder. Regina cried out at the shallow penetration, but her struggling soon turned to writhing and what once came as pain turned to immeasurable pleasure. The neat white teeth from Emma bit down shallowly, but they didn't fail to spread a dull ache. It spread, devoted and searching, to the most desperate of areas. At once, Regina's' sex clenched rhythmically to the frenzied bites. She muttered loud gasps and groans and offered herself up into an arch. She was still braced against Emma as they lay on their sides and stared at that open drawer. They moved in sync, recalling what they had done. Her hips motioned back shamelessly against the press of Emma's thigh as it gathered her arousal like dry, naked canvas.

When Emma was done she sucked the wound hard enough to bring out another muffled groan from Regina. She retreated to study her work. Green eyes flashed maliciously. Despite the beating she caused Regina Emma knew she deserved it for the lot of shit she doled out. It seemed like the sheriff had been getting her revenge ever since the mayor snubbed her in the woods. And it wasn't just for payback's sake. If Emma didn't know any better she would say Regina _wanted_ to be maimed like this. She seemed to take to being claimed with gusto.

When Regina could turn over she took Emma by the back of the neck and pulled her down. The sweet, hot mouth clamped instantly on the side of her breast. Emma's tongue swirled and danced as she sucked heartily.

"Harder," Regina croaked.

Emma removed her mouth and brought it down on a dusky, pert nipple. She lavished it in the manner requested, pulling and suckling.

" _Yes_."

Such rich encouragement brought similar treatment to the other breast. Emma sucked hard, enjoying a moan herself at the feel of the nipple straining against her tongue.

Regina brought Emma up with a single finger under chin. Her lips, still tasting of the fine Argentinian grape, grazed breathlessly over Emma's. "Lift your hips," she instructed and kissed her deeply. "Please?" was mumbled with a shy cock of her head.

Once ample room presented the opportunity, Regina slipped her hand along the heaving, delicate figure and tickled minutely against the neatly trimmed hair. She smiled against Emma's mouth, immensely satisfied by the little lifestyle situated between the woman's legs. As her ministrations carried on, the wolfish smile opened to take in the tongue overzealous for her mouth. Regina trailed the backs of her fingers along Emma's folds. The slick need that met her touch had her long groan joining Emma's. She parted the smooth lips with her knuckle, dipping shallowly to tease. After the string of impatient whines Regina acquiesced. Wrist turning, two fingers plunged in reaching molten depths aplenty.

"F-uck," choked Emma. Overcome by the first wave of Regina, her hips jerked roughly forward.

"Mm," Regina hummed, nuzzling her lips over an agape and cursing mouth. Her thrusts kept in time with the bucking hips. "Is that good?"

"Yeah." The muscles in her lower back screamed for relief, but Emma wouldn't give it. She couldn't allow it when Regina felt so _fucking_ good inside her. All she _could_ do was allow her body to stretch for more. "Oh god," she moaned as fingers lunged for the deepest part of her. Her nails scrambled ruthlessly along Regina's sides.

Long, inflamed trails rose to the surface and Regina responded with a quickened plunge again and again into the woman's clenching sex. Emma bucked harder and faster to get the most out of these seemingly noble efforts. Her head fell into the neck devastated by her fanatic lips.

Regina turned her mouth so it panted harshly against the dainty curve of Emma's ear. "Fuck me like you did last night."

Emma's lips parted but before they could reply she felt the body under her turn and lunge for the bedside drawer once again. In her process to stop her, Emma noticed that Regina's eyes had gone wild and desperate. It wasn't necessarily an attraction she liked to see in her lovers. Regina's relentlessness had all but worn Emma down. Not this time, she swore to herself.

"Henry is at a sleepover," Regina pleaded. "There is no need for discretion."

Emma's lips thinned over clenched teeth. "And there's no need for me to do that to you."

"I thought you wanted it. You _liked_ it," she insisted firmly. Her anger ratcheted but hardly reached the level of disappointment pressing on her chest. Everything she hoped for that night, all her clinging expectations and desperations took a plummet. Her devastation could be felt like no pain she could describe. "You loved it," she insisted. "You took pleasure in this," she pressed, much weaker this time as if her whole heart couldn't sustain it.

And Emma knew she spoke the truth. She did love it. She took immense pleasure in it. Like a dog in heat she went after it. There were times she couldn't even stop herself. And that's what made last night so different from the rest. That's why Emma had to do this now.

"No."

The springs under them creaked as Regina leaned forward. "What?" Her voice was so small she could barely hear it.

"I think," Emma's voice rasped and she winced against the scratching assault to her throat. If felt like swallowing shrapnel after a passion igniting kiss. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I think… I think this is over."

Regina looked crestfallen. "What?" she croaked, seeming to forget her loathing of unnecessary repetition.

Emma stared into the classy white bed comforter but not really seeing – or thinking for that matter. A while later she saw fit to move. Legs slipped shakily over the edge of the bed and tried their level best to support the rest of her.

"I should probably go."

It was said with a light tone of obviousness like there was no better reason for escaping Regina in her current state. She gathered up her clothes in a robotic fashion: one hand down, a bra clamped to her abdomen; the other hand down, a shirt painted to her chest… and on and on.

Regina's eyebrows as well as her speech rose in worry. "But why should you?"

"We'll talk later. I think we should talk. Let's do that sometime soon."

"You sound strange. Something is changing…" Regina's voice dragged off like a feather off a cliff. Only this particular feather wasn't so light and resilient to force. It didn't ride the wind so effortlessly as it plummeted to earth.

Hands adhering her clothes to her chest like they were a life preserver, Emma bent down to kiss the trembling lips. "Okay?"

Regina didn't grant her approval, but neither did she argue. The look smeared on Emma's face stayed too unreadable for her to dignify it with a response.


	9. Of Love and Property

Chapter Nine: Of Love and Property

When she told Henry of her plans he responded exactly as expected. He was nothing if not predictable when it came down to matters of mothers and their destinies. Of course he wouldn't want her to leave. What else would Emma expect?

Packing her bags was a simple thing. In fact, it was the only simple part about this. She shared the morning with Mary Margaret. They had iced orange juice and fresh bagels with cream cheese on dainty little plates adorned around the edge in a flower print. They ate while Emma listened quietly to her friend's plans for the day and the new art project she was working on with her students. It was there last breakfast together and Emma said nothing. It didn't exceed torture until she got to school.

There was nothing that could prepare Emma. There was nothing that could prepare her son, so she just went through with it. It was much like ripping off a band-aid, only the band-aid didn't want to let go. It clung desperately to the skin much like Henry wouldn't let go of her.

"Please! Please don't go! Don't leave me!" Henry's tear-streaked face barreled into Emma's stomach. He held on tight, burrowing further into her. In some strange way he wished he was back in her womb. Then he would be reborn in a time when she wouldn't give him up. "You can't because I love you." It should matter that he was her son and she his mother. That love, that unbreakable bond should mean something. Shouldn't it?

Emma guided him to a discrete corner of the hallway and gripped his shoulders. "I'm not going to lie to you, Henry. I can't be around your mom anymore. You know what we're like; I don't have to get into details. You've seen the fights. I lost my job at one point because of her. Regina and I… that's oil and water. We would destroy each other whether we lived ten blocks away or 10,000. You would get caught in the middle and I can't have that. I'm making the same decision I made when you were born ten years ago. It's for your own good."

"No, it's not! How can it be when it means I can't be with you? I'm your son. We're supposed to be together not apart!"

Emma's eyes welled with acid tears. "Henry…"

"Just try. Okay? I know it's hard to be around her but maybe if you stick around this time she'll actually want you here." His eyes pleaded as he arrived at his last line of strategy. "I don't think she wants you to go."

Emma took in the reddened cheeks, his messy hair, the hiccups, anything that would distract her from the likelihood. A chuckle bubbled to the surface. "Now I know you've been drinking the Kool-Aid."

"Listen to me!" he screeched, turning the heads of two teachers walking by. He took in handfuls of her jacket with a familiar desperation that caused Emma's eyes to widen. "You can annoy her sometimes, but she likes you, Emma. Honestly. Just don't tell her or she'll kill me. The yelling is just her way of showing she cares. You… I think you scare her."

"Your mom has done more than yell at me." Emma cringed inwardly. She would rather not elaborate to her almost eleven-year-old son and scar his memory forever. "Regina's hurt me in a lot of ways, but then I've done the same to her. She has good reason to be afraid of me. I've hurt your mom, Henry. And I'm sorry for that. And I just can't look at her anymore without being reminded of what it has cost us."

"Me," Henry gathered. He sniffed, eyes downcast like the remaining pieces of his family were there on the ground. He hugged her once more.

Emma started to realize how young he really was. She remembered back when she asked him if he trusted her. He had paused, if only for a bare second. Did the kid even know what trust meant? What about love? Emma may be his biological mother, but did he realize the kind of blood parents that mistreat their kids and betray them at every turn? Emma did, maybe even Regina too, but Henry? He had grown up in a small town, a bubble of security and monotony, away from the jaws of reality.

She would have to do this quicker than either of them were comfortable with. Her cheeks were hot and wet and her vision was starting to see double, but she had to do this.

With a power she had never used on Henry, Emma wrenched the boy from her waist and as fast as her feet would carry she left with a brisk and wobbly, "I'm sorry."

* * *

Erik had a bitch of a time deciding what to do with the note. Emma had handed it over to him in confidence, asking for it to be delivered without as much as a peek into its contents. The scrap of thrice folded paper had been glaring at him ever since.

He was loyal to the mayor and would not see her ruined, but at the same time he was being given an order by the sheriff. If the matter contained in the note was harmful to the mayor then surely Emma would have informed the mayor in person. Surely.

"Everything alright, dear?"

"Entshuldigen sie!" he sputtered, straightening in his chair. "Pardon me, Madam. I will get back to work straight away." His hands fished about his desk as he made himself busy.

"You press yourself much too hard." Regina chuckled and moved around his desk to confront him with an impish grin. "I was not reprimanding you. I just came out here because I was concerned. You've been quiet all morning. I've grown quite accustomed to your monologues."

"My monologues?" His puzzled expression turned wide. "Oh! My… oh, well I do like to talk myself through certain processes. A recollection method I learned from my father. He was a professor… the hours gave him high blood pressure and self-talk calmed his nerves. Oh! Why am I rambling on this way? I'm sorry if the habit disturbs you. I will stop at once."

"There's no need for apology. I've caught my son talking out loud on occasion. I think it helps him with his homework."

"Yes, I'm afraid he gets that from me. I am horrible at censoring myself during our German speaking lessons."

"Which I am entirely grateful for. It is good for Henry to be surrounded by responsible adults and to receive a well-rounded education. To have both at the same time puts a mother at ease."

Erik's cheeks colored and he bowed his head several times. "You are too kind, Madam." The note caught his eye and he licked his lips nervously. "Uhm, the sheriff came in today. Before you arrived, that is."

"Oh?"

The sudden wringing of hands drew his attention and he wondered if this was such a good idea. True, his concern for his boss exceeded that of normal standards, but Regina wasn't exactly a normal mayor was she? She had an intellect and shrewdness no politician could match. Her capacity for love (that of her son) was immeasurable. She did what others didn't have the stomach to do. She felt more than anyone and concealed those feelings with a tenacity that probably hurt her more than helped her. She was a courageous woman. But could she handle it? Whatever lied in Emma's written words?

"Yes," he said, scratching chin. "I, ah…. I have it right here."

She took it without a word or flicker of emotion across her face. Her eyes danced across the folded paper as she proceeded to return to her office.

Chair rolling, Erik leant forward in time to catch the closing door and Regina behind it. She was positively beheld by the note.

She fell into her chair with no memory of having done so. Regina imagined what the note would say. She thought about it for most of the day and only a few made the cut. Breathing out a sigh she checked them off like items on a list. There was, _I'm a rude, uncivilized ass. Can I buy you coffee?_ Then there was the single line, a simple yet meaningful, _I miss you_ , which really got her heart going. She turned the other potentials over in her mind, sampling them on her tongue, but none could compare with the even more outlandish, _I'm sorry._

Apologies were not Emma's style, but then neither was slipping the mayor a note like they were in elementary school. This bizarre behavior coupled with the sheriff's absence the past week caused Regina to further revert from her work. Staring out her window seemed to be all she ever did lately. She knew Erik worried about her and had been hurt by her distance. He had been taking on a lot more work in addition to his responsibilities as her executive assistant. He went about it as if she didn't notice but she did. Already he had all but taken on the primary duties of mayor in her semi-pseudo-mental absence. If he were any other person she wouldn't have been so appreciative.

With a smile Regina dared to imagine what her office would be like if something were to happen to her. She smiled because Erik would make a marvelous mayor. Everyone loved him and respected him as he loved and respected in return. He possessed the instincts and understanding necessary to grapple with the day in and day out trials of running a town. If she were an ordinary citizen, working a mediocre job, and living in a small one bedroom apartment with a cat, Regina Mills wouldn't think twice before casting her ballot for Erik Eli Larsen. Regina wouldn't go so far as to say he could exceed her achievements as mayor, but he would make her very proud indeed.

Regina directed her stare back out the window. Her thoughts returned to the note in her hand. Since it got there the edges had wilted and the integrity of the paper had blotted her sweaty palm. Maybe now it was time to read it. What could Emma have to say? What was so important (or unimportant) that it had to be transcribed instead of delivered in person? Her mind turned over the possibilities again. Still, none of her imaginings could match with the words scrawled across the paper.

 _Meet me at the place where this all started._

 _Emma_

Regina opened her mouth in a mute gasp. Her eyes fell closed and ancient history flashed before her eyes. An abandoned plan came in images of a babbling brook and sunlight spearing through a woodland canopy. Then there was Emma and herself starting something that would end in a hand-written note. Regina's eyes fluttered open to the bright sunlight of afternoon. Hope filled her gaze. It was all she saw, all she could believe in.

Suddenly, the mayor's mind was working. It had been months since she felt this motivated to move, this inspired to think. She quickly devised a strategy, one that the sheriff would not be immune to. Holes scattered through the plan, of course. No plan was perfect. An anxiety twisted her stomach. She would have to reveal things about herself, things that she hadn't surrendered in years for fear of that age old sting of defeat. Emma would be angry at her, possibly raving mad enough to stomp her way out of town, but deep down Regina knew she'd fail to follow through. It would be good for her. It would be good for _them_. Regina insisted upon it like she insisted on breathing.

Once the specifics of her plan were hammered out and when she managed a breath to steady her nerves Regina rose from her desk. Before leaving she scrutinized the jackets in her office closet. It was cool for a summer day, one of the last tides before the fall, so she made her selection wisely.

Outside her office Erik stood at the array of file cabinets, too consumed with the responsibilities of loyal assistant to notice her presence. The snap of her door closing caused his head to rise.

"Madam," he offered in his usual warmth, "may I get you something?"

"I'm fine," she replied before winding her arms around his shoulders. Erik's immense height had her rising to the tips of her toes to reach him, but the embrace was as successful as it was sincere.

Erik blinked, but did not speak. Apparently after all that deliberation he must have made a wise decision. His hands eventually found the mayor in a similar hug. When they parted he found himself sharing in her expression. "Good news?"

"Pardon?"

"The note, Madam. It can't have been nothing to provoke a smile such as that."

Regina smiled wider. "It is good news."

* * *

It was fifty steps off the beaten path, the same fifty steps taken before. The beech trees and aspens soared like spears, and their interweaving branches and leaves kept out most of the sun. Regina had yet to hear the lapping brook, but perhaps that was because the blood was pumping so hard in her ears. It had not been a trying walkabout through the forest, but she soon found herself breathing laboriously. She would not allow herself to blame it on excitement. If she were to depend on one outcome alone there would be no time to prepare for disaster. She could not risk losing everything just so she could engage in a premature celebration.

A fond smile came to her as she took in nature. It looked and smelled just like the last time she was there. Her jacket flapped in the breeze causing her to pull it tighter around her body. She blessed her intuition for the afternoon had grown much colder than forecasted. Over the pumping adrenaline rushing in her ears she made out the fluttering leaves, creaking branches, and the squawk of flying wildlife. It was isolated, private, and so perfect Regina couldn't stop the rapid pace of her heart.

"You came."

Regina stopped her progress in a leafy clearing surrounded by aspens. It looked vaguely familiar. The area could have just been another plot of forest if it hadn't ignited a heat in her groin. "You called on me," she asserted. She searched Emma's expression and found suspicion and bitterness, two things Regina had not counted on. "Of course I came."

Hands still shoved in the pockets of her brown leather jacket, Emma stared at a tree behind Regina. She hardly moved since the mayor arrived.

Regina shifted on her feet. "I remember you mentioning that business outdoors constituted as uncomfortable," she said with a grin and a cock of her head. Her eyes narrowed. "Now I am not so sure you were being honest."

"I wasn't lying. I just think this is a more private area to discuss things."

If Emma's wall had been a tangible thing it would have given Regina a bruise for how hard it knocked into her. Nothing was getting past her this time. Equally determined, Regina still had confidence in her plan.

After a deep inhale Emma let it out and met the woman's eye line. "Do you know why I asked you here?"

"How about you enlighten me?"

"Well, you can pop open the champagne… throw a party… whatever because you are one lucky lady. You're getting what you wanted all along and I'm not going to throw one of my famous tantrums."

"Just what do I have to celebrate?" Regina asked, a brow furrowed and a smirk superseded all caution in brightening her mood.

"I'm leaving Storybrooke. My bags are packed. The car's got a full tank. I'm gone. Satisfied?"

The joy melted from Regina's face. "You're leaving? How?"

"How? It's kind of simple, really. I hop my ass in the car and drive. I _keep_ driving until the 'Leaving Storybrooke' sign is miles gone from the rear-view mirror."

Somewhere between "I'm leaving" and Emma's deathly serious glare Regina woke up from her nightmare only to realize it was her reality. Even after shaking the worries from her mind they still persisted in gnawing away like ravenous termites. "But you are not supposed to leave," she insisted, eyebrows pinching together. She took a step closer. "What about Henry? What about _me_?"

Emma's breath visibly hitched. "I already said my goodbyes." There was a waxy sheen to her eyes. It was telling proof of what she had put herself and her son through. "I am saying my goodbyes."

"You can't. This is not… Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you come to me? If something happened… if you…" Regina choked and fell a step forward just as Emma fell a step back, in retreat. That response in itself hurt her more than the actual news of leaving ever did. "I deserve to know why you are leaving." Regina could have patted herself on the back for how sturdy it sounded. If her heart wasn't breaking in a million pieces, that was.

While one heart was breaking another's control was spinning out. Emma could not – would not – keep her fury in check. She unleashed it on Regina with a snarling retort.

"Did you really think no one would get hurt in this?! That feelings would not be broken? I thought you were cold, Regina! Without feeling. I don't much care how you've changed but I… _I_ have. I don't like myself when I'm around you. I don't recognize this person," she sneered, waving down at herself in disgust. "I _feel_ _nothing_. I am _empty_. It's like you took everything about me and used it for your own sick pleasure. Now I'm the cold one," she jabbed a finger into her own chest, "the one without feeling. I'm… I'm just numb."

"Emma, I –"

"Is this what you wanted? Oh, stupid me. Of course this is what you wanted. It's been your plan since you met me: to break me inside and out. Guess what? You succeeded!"

"You cannot have known what I had in store for you," Regina defended meekly. She had thus far been so reticent she was scaring herself. "You can't have known because I hardly understood myself. I honestly cannot recall when I gave up, but I know beyond a shred of a doubt that I no longer harbor the ill will I once had for you. You have to know _that_ , Emma."

"Christ, Regina. If you're queen of anything it's self-pity. You don't have to dumb yourself down to explain a simple emotion like hate to me. I'm more acquainted with it than you think."

Regina blinked her welling eyes. "I don't hate you."

"I wanted you so much." Emma shook her head, crestfallen. "I wanted you so damn bad that I lost my job. Not having that responsibility was the price I paid for needing to feel something with you. So you tell me, Madame Mayor. Have I suffered enough to your satisfaction? Did you want me parading on a stage for money? Is that who you think I am? Some home-wrecking slut who hasn't a shred of dignity?"

"Stop this," Regina intoned sternly. Her face hardened. "You are _not_ listening to me. I am in no way pleased by this hurt you claim to have sustained in staying with me. How could I be? After everything?"

"Why stop now when it's just getting good, huh? This happened once before – you saying 'no' in a frantic situation. Can you recall who got the wrong end of _that_ encounter?"

"That's in the past." Regina's palm cautioned insistently. Her eyes were pleading now as a last resort. She had no other option in convincing Emma. "We are different people now, Emma. You cannot hold a blackmail tape against me for the rest of my life. It is just not reasonable."

If the latter had went unspoken both would have been sure that Emma kept on retreating. But it was just too late to retract the statement. Once it came out it had her whirling around. Now it was Emma drawing forward but with a finger spearing out threateningly.

"Reasonable?! Don't talk to me about reasonable! The things you made me do to you…" Emma's mouth hung open dry of details too horrifying to commit to words. The implication dangled out in the open, saturating the ever-growing tension between them and silencing the victim of her corruption. "You were a willing participant and you goaded me into it. You _begged_ me, Regina. _Begged_. What was I supposed to do?" The tears were flowing from her eyes. Her cheeks were crimson. Her throat was raw. She didn't want to scream. She just wanted to give herself up so the wind would float her somewhere else, some place where no one knew her name. "What was I supposed to do?" she implored heavily, palms splayed up towards the sky.

"I did not _make_ you. I _let_ you, remember?" Brunette lashes fell and clashed with the salty sting of shame. "You could have said no."

"But I didn't. Because I couldn't."

Finely trimmed brows rose slightly as did the tone of voice. "Then some part of you must have wanted it."

Emma's lips thinned out. She knew it to be true, but god damn Regina for saying it.

"Emma, you have to understand… I have never lived in a world where liking and warmth came easy. To me the absence of it is a small price to pay for the greater purpose. I strive to hold a town together. I work constantly to put my child through school, to feed him, to clothe him, to put a roof over his head. I know that you never had those things growing up, so you can comprehend how precious they are and how difficult they are to obtain." She took Emma's hand in hers. It came to both of their shock that the gesture was not thrown down. "I want things like everyone else. Nothing is forbidden in this world if you have the courage to desire it. There is beauty in coveting what we cannot have. If we don't pursue what is denied to us then society does not progress; we are immobile by our own fears. I want the same things as everyone else. If you don't believe that then you are far more ignorant than I give you credit for," she commented wryly, squeezing Emma's hand to soften the blow. "I just want them in different ways. I don't know how else to ask."

"I can't give you what you want, Regina." They both watched as the pale hand slipped. Emma put distance between them, enough so she could breathe.

Regina stumbled forward, reaching out. "No. No, Emma…"

"What happened to smug Madame Mayor? I actually like her better. She was a damn good woman in a fight. She didn't give up so easily. She didn't take things lying down. There would be no excuse for disappointment if I told her she was in the right. I'm leaving and she's not even here to enjoy it." Emma's features scrunched in genuine longing. "What happened to her? What happened to smug, self-righteous Regina?"

"She wasn't in love with you!"

"And you are?" Emma chortled with a scorn that made Regina flinch. A part of her shattered at the sight of the twisting, angst-ridden face. Now Emma was tormenting Regina in an entirely different manner, one that was more harmful than any physical violation. "I can't love you like this."

"Then end it!" Her bellow startled the birds from their branches. "If you can't look at me or love me then kill me!"

She took the hands from Emma and placed them around her own neck and squeezed just enough. Emma's hands were the kind of warmth she dreamed of. They were calloused in some places and soft in others. She closed her eyes and wished for magic. If she had her powers, if she had the god damned courage, she would do it herself and spare Emma the guilt. Emma may resent her now, but she was too good to end a life. Regina was sorry for making her do it, but it would be her very last request, she reasoned. Then they would both be free.

"I love you," Regina practically moaned. "I keep falling into you with nothing and no one to save me from it – least of all me. Your absence will change nothing. You might be able to leave Storybrooke but I cannot be left behind like this. _Please_."

Emma's fingers tightened and then hesitated. She had granted Regina's every wish save one. Emma remembered the pangs felt that night she left the Mills mansion. A choice was made. It wasn't easy, but she followed through. What would result if that cycle was broken?

"I don't _feel_ enough to grant your wish. I don't have it in me." Emma allowed herself to caress the woman's features with a kind gaze. "I did care for you. It may have turned into something more… later." She blinked it all away and shook her head. "In any case, it's too late for that. You have made me cruel and hard and I will make you feel it for the last time – as requested."

The loss of air had Regina coughing behind the tightening fingers. Her hands shook violently and she started to see spots, but she kept herself from grabbing on. Her whole body submitted to the attack, her feet stumbling back until her back was driven into the nearest tree. Just when she thought she would black out the pressure lifted from her wind pipe. Instinctively, she made a grand inhale that was smothered by a new assault.

Emma's kiss was hardly a kiss. Her mouth covered Regina's completely and moved savagely and without pity. The gesture didn't really convey anything, no love or remorse, no animosity or respect. It could only be as convoluted as their relationship.

The hand behind Regina's neck braced her into the kiss while the other still held at her throat. It was a threatening gesture, to leave her thumb over smooth cartilage and remind them both that she could end it all with just a press. But soon Emma lifted it and smoothed it across a chin possessively. Her grip lightened and would have provided a comfort if her lips on Regina hadn't let up.

When they gasped for air Regina filled her hands with bright, golden hair and brought the pink mouth back in. They kissed viciously, tugging at lips, sucking blood to the surface and even drawing some in the process. They clawed and hissed. While one begged for it the other took it. They were on unequal ground with no power struggle in play. This dance had been on repeat for as long as they allowed it. Though the status quo had changed they would fall back into routine once more.

Emma took Regina's hips and shoved them back. A cry sounded at the bark digging into her spine. It was clear from the fond expression on the mayor's face that it had not been a cry for help or a request to stop. Emma took the many indications from the woman's face and body language that this wasn't enough. Although how far she was expected to go this time Emma didn't care anymore.

Heaving her body into Regina's, Emma pressed her fully into the many imperfections and protrusions of the tree. She could feel the grinding hips against her and it was not subtle. Not a concern sprung to mind at how badly Regina was hurting herself. Instead Emma bided her time with the crimson, raw neck which she clamped her mouth to. Regina's fingers weaved tighter in her hair and her nails scraped along Emma's skull as if to spur her on. Emma tormented her with kisses, licking rough strokes and nipping along the tender red streaks. As usual, Regina _let_ her and relished in it with victorious whimpers.

"My only fear was that I'd turn into you," Emma rasped against her collarbone. "And then I realized… this is who I am. You made me this way." She brought her mouth up and against Regina's lips. "And I let you twist me like you let me hurt you."

Regina's eyes fluttered open to look at the woman she made. They began to sting and prickle until looking became too much. She turned away. She could not bear to see the absence of what her heart so desperately offered up. If a noble gesture could not be returned in a moment of necessity then she would not hope for the hopeless. She would not stare at its mocking grin no matter the glorious pain it would afford her. It was asking too much.

As if it were no bother, Emma pulled at the waistband of the mayor's slacks. Her fingers scraped against the bare skin of Regina's abdomen until they hit creeping wetness.

Regina uttered a deep moan. Emma entered her completely in one thrust that quickly became a series of gratifying heaves. There was no teasing in her touch. Emma was all intent and desire wrapped up in one tight, cruel package. Regina could no more stop her than she could quell the heat spreading through her own groin. A delectable buzz of excitement consumed her; much like the wanting of Emma Swan the yielding to one such woman conveyed a dangerous outcome. Fully prepared to take on the risks, Regina met the rough fingers with the consent of her hips. Broken moans warmed Emma's cheek as she tried to express her want for more: more of the sheriff's resentment, more of her anger. Regina would mine her dry of emotion in fated screams and mournful whimpers. She would take it all with her throbbing, wet sex and scraping red nails until…. Until when?

"Oh god," she groaned, not wanting to think about the end.

Emma opened her eyes and looked upon her mayor and soon-to-be ex-lover. She was beautiful. It didn't bother her that it had not been expressed. Regina wasn't the sentimental type – in that, they were similar.

"I loved you when you brought me here." Emma's pupils dilated to her hotly confessed sentiment. She nearly broke out into a relishing smirk when Regina's eyes matched. "That's why you stopped, wasn't it? You saw it in my eyes that day." Emma needed to hear it so bad. She pressed the heel of her hand harder. " _Tell_ me."

Regina's mouth opened in a hearty moan of, " _Yes!_ " Her breathing came in gasping fits as she strove to get the words out. "I thought I could not. I was afraid of it – of you."

Emma responded with a kiss. She bit deep into the trembling bottom lip. With one hand continuing its furious ministrations, the other crept from the small of Regina's back all the way up to her shoulder blades. The jacket and shirt rippled up over the intrusion, revealing a stark naked back to the forest air. When her fingers reached the muscles of a neck Emma dug in the tips and pushed her body full into Regina's.

Regina screamed as her bare spine chaffed against the tree. Now she felt a part of it all. To be so close to nature as to bleed on it put the breath back in gasping lungs. She tasted copper on her tongue just as the aspen tasted the rivulets of blood painting its ash white bark. She felt a part of a cycle: the tree claiming her and she claiming it in return. And then there was Emma taking without mercy or forethought. And it all transpired at the spur of the moment like a leaf spinning off its branch.

"Emma," she whimpered, crying tears into the crook of a neck. Her hands braced fiercely to the woman's shoulders.

"Almost," murmured Emma, half intent on leaving and half yearning to bury every last piece of what Regina made of her inside this woman. "Not yet."

Emma threw herself into her efforts. She knew the ache spreading through Regina's back only added to the thrusting assault on her sex. She knew from the moment of the first cries – one from a creaking tree and the other from the mayor – that Regina would come in moments. It was her way, and as requested of her in previous encounters, Emma would bridge that gap between pleasure and pain.

With a hurried scream Regina called out the name that had been in her thoughts and secretly on her lips for what seemed like forever. Aching and slick with blood and the evidence of her arousal, she stiffened. She closed her eyes and felt Emma bury herself inside her for what might be the last time. The feeling, the time, and the place burned into her memory, and she longed for it all before it was even over. Chest panting, Regina fell back as Emma pulled out.

Stumbling blindly in retreat, Emma cast a meandering view of their surroundings. She shook her hand out in the open air with a casualty that harkened back to the clearing of smeared lipstick.

"You know what it's like to have me – in whatever twisted way." Emma's voice was clear over the rippling brook yonder. So crystal clear it could have echoed through the forest and etched its words into every branch and trunk. Emma spared a glance at her ravished mistress. "And now you'll know what it's like to lose me."

Regina slid to the ground. She hardly flinched when the tree carved into her bloodied back. A black ocean of unconsciousness claimed her before she had a chance to say goodbye.


	10. Lamentation

Chapter Ten: Lamentation

 _How's your world now? Not quite so diminished now, is it?_ – David Ives, 'Venus in Fur'

Regina climbed the steps of her porch, rubbing the tenderness from her neck. It took some fumbling but when she managed to get the front door unlocked she breathed a sigh of relief.

Home.

Every stride was taken with a wince. She used the wall to prop herself upright until the dizziness passed. A labored breath in, a long one out. Her eyes were shut and she licked at her bottom lip, collecting the bitter taste of dried blood.

A storming of feet descended the stairwell and came in the presence of her son. He stopped at the last step, examining his mother and the blank expression she sported for him. Unblinking, Henry heaved up his backpack and marched past her without a word.

Regina touched his shoulder strap. "Henry, where are you going?"

He roughly slapped her hand away. Despite the obvious pain she was in Henry didn't dial back on his boiling tone. "Away! With Emma gone there's nothing here for me!"

Hand shying back, Regina recoiled. "That is not my fault."

"Yes, it is! You ruin everything I love. You _keep_ me from everyone I love. I'm leaving before you destroy me, too."

"Henry," she frowned, hands twitching to reach for him, "I would never hurt you. You're my child. You're everything to me."

"Emma was everything to me."

"I know how you must feel. But I am still here for you. I would never leave." She took one trembling hand and tucked it under his chin. "You will always have me."

"I don't want you!" He screamed loud enough for it to shake every wall in the house. "I never asked to be your son! I'm Emma's! If you loved me at all you would have made her stay."

"She made her decision, Henry. I cannot compete with that." Despite her heartfelt guilt it wasn't enough to please her son. Nothing would be enough for either of them if Emma wasn't there in the flesh. Clenching her jaw, Regina asked, "What do you want me to do? I cannot force her to stay."

"You've done worse to her," spat, taking a tentative step back.

Regina's eyes flew from his threatening mouth to his retreating sneakers. Both hurt on a nuclear scale. "What did she tell you?" Her eyes narrowed.

"It's in the book, remember? You're the Evil Queen and you des –"

"Yes," she snapped lightly, "I destroy everyone's happiness. But this is real life, not the pages of a book. If people get hurt here they actually suffer. While it is unavoidable for anyone to cause pain, it is never my intention to make you feel it. I have even come to regret my dishonest aims against Miss Swan, though not at the expense of your safety. Your happiness means more to me than my own. I love you," Regina intoned with round eyes. She searched the floor just as the words stumbled past her lips. "And I love –"

"Love is dark! If you are capable of it then I don't want it."

Regina's knees met the floor instantly. "Don't say that, sweetheart," she pleaded. "You don't know what you're saying." If it weren't for her son's adamant confession she would have crumpled from the ache in her spine. She had taken a beating, and every pang reminded her that she had asked for it. She had found herself kneeling more often than usual, but this time there was an enormous wretchedness about the things she wanted and the ways in which she desired them. "Love doesn't have to be a competition. If you love her more than me –"

"I do!" Henry insisted, his screech making him flinch just as visibly as his mother.

Regina looked away, lashes fluttering. She rubbed the sweat of her palms against her thighs and murmured, "If that is how you feel then I cannot force your opinion any differently. You are free to love whom you wish and with however much of your heart."

Henry nibbled at his lip. Just like Regina he was losing the confidence to make eye contact.

She returned to match his frightened stare. Her throat bobbed unexpectedly and her eyes shinned with unshed tears. "But I am still your legal guardian," she said. Not 'mother,' because that detail seemed moot at present. "And you are a minor. Until you turn 18 you will live in this house and abide by my rules."

She wondered where he would go when he became an adult. Would he race off to find his biological mother? The one who left him not once but twice? It didn't matter to him. He was still a child who could overlook such monumental grievances. She wondered where Emma would be in seven years and how old she would be. Would she wait for Henry? For Regina? Would Henry really leave his own mother behind and the home she loved and raised him in?

These were question Regina would torture herself over for years to come.

"I don't have to listen to you," Henry said. "I can leave whenever I want and you can't stop me. You couldn't even stop me the first time."

He launched himself past her and grabbed for the doorknob. Before the brass handle even squeaked he felt the shoulder straps of his backpack bite into his arms. He was hauled back.

"You are not going anywhere."

She snatched him back from the door and let him go.

He uttered a sob and the first tears unleashed. His sneakers squealed across the finished hard wood floor as he scrambled away. "I won't forgive you for this! I promise. I won't forgive you for letting her go and from keeping me from her! And I won't forgive you for treating me like a prisoner!"

He whirled and rushed back up the stairs. The sobs were just a miniscule thing over the stomping of his feet on the stairs. He would let it all out, no holds barred when he was in his room.

Regina heard the slam and the subsequent wail. These walls are so thin, she thought. Why do they have to be so god damned thin?

She made a mess of her study. Objects flew in midair, glass and mirrors shattered, things were destroyed. Many, many things were left to pieces on the floor and she stood in the middle of it all like a lone survivor after an apocalypse.

Hands hanging slack at her sides, Regina begged herself not to lose it any further than she had already. Her mouth pressed trembling lips tightly closed, so tight against the bubbling sobs. She stared at some vague spot on her wall and dared not join the broken pieces at her feet. Her body was already damaged and bleeding. She could not surrender the last of what she protected so dearly. She couldn't because it was no longer hers to surrender. Now, it remained probably a hundred miles away and growing.

Regina Mills wanted so many things. She went as far as a curse to get them, but it only sated a fraction of that lust. For a time, Emma had succeeded where a spell failed. The lack of control with her was orgasmic. The danger was thrilling. What would she do next? What foul praise would be slung upon her mistress? Emma had been so unexpected and so unpredictable it was exactly as Regina wished for.

She had lived in a world of perfection and appeasement for 28 years and it made her sick. She was curious to feel something different, something beyond the normal range of emotion. Emma hadn't satisfied that curiosity, but given her a taste of it. And Regina came back for more. She would have crawled naked through the desert to get it. She needed to feel the lashes against her skin; feel the sting, the burn, and the bit shred like razors. She wanted punishment, degradation, and rapture. She was in love with them as she was in love with Emma. They were the only things that made her feel alive and wanted in a world of perfection and appeasement. Emma made her feel desired much as she had been as queen.

There remained little softness about this world spawned from a spell. Suffering and pleasure were an enjoyment to be prescribed as one entity. It was her way. It was the only way. Her hatred and fear of Emma turned into a masochistic infatuation where the sting of a slap turned into tingling delight, where a blow turned to tender awakening. She had pursued it with punch-drunk enthusiasm and, therefore, could not know the moral dilemma in assigning these acts to Emma.

Regina's head dropped to view the crumpled slip of paper in her fist. Her fingers unclenched around the false second chance. Her eyes read the words again. She breathed shakily, her chest rattling, and rubbed her thumb over the scrawled ink of Emma's name.

In a way, their parting arrived promptly – before things became too messy. Except that wasn't entirely true. Emma's departure came too late for propriety to matter. They were doomed the second Regina's lips connected with Emma's that day in the forest all those months ago. Destined to strip their defenses layer by layer and torment what lied inside. To bite and claw each other to shreds, scream their throats raw, and start the vicious process all over again.

She folded the note back into her palm and closed her fingers around it like a heart-shaped box would.

As fate would have it, the pages of her favorite book lay open and prostrate as a victim of circumstance. Regina stared at it from across the study with the knowledge of her actions. She had pursued beauty through incomprehensible torture as Severin did for his fur-draped Venus.

And she dropped to her knees for the last time. She raised her chin up, eyes searching the spot where Emma should have been – with her. Regina's hand blindly patted the floor until it hit a cold, hard object. She gripped it and allowed the cool metal to seep into her skin, all the way to the bone until she _felt_ it.

Empty and alone, Regina rubbed the pad of her thumb along the edge of the letter opener while staring at the ghost of her desire. A bead of red spilt with every graze. She did not wince or cry out, but a thrill seized her as transparent evergreen eyes danced on her. She felt hot and aroused. Elation flowed from her eyes, amassing with blood into a puddle on the floor.

It only lasted a moment. The euphoria was short-lived in the presence of empty space. Her thumb pressed harder, and harder, and harder… She didn't know how else to feel it. Emma was gone now and with her Regina's will to capture it.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Regina shook. With no one to record her words and no one to respond to her she asked something of herself, something that dismantled the heart of her.

"Are you satisfied now?"


End file.
